Mark of Dean
by StaciAnnR
Summary: Not brothers anymore? Fine. Fine - Dean ditches Baby, the Bunker, and his Angel. After calling Crowley, they strike a deal of sorts. He won't sell his soul to the demon, but maybe a soul isn't all he has of value these days. Crowley knows something's off, but while he works on figuring out what happened, he turns Dean into a BAFM weapon. A very hot, very focused BAFM *SPOILERS*
1. Chapter 1

**S-S-S-S-S**

Not brothers anymore.

Sam wouldn't save him.

His little brother would let him die.

What do you do with that?

Dean drained the last bit of rot gut and laid on his bed. He could hear his… He could hear Sam walking around in the library down the hall.

The thing was – this was his life. Was he selfish? Yes. But each fucking time he'd saved Sam, that asshole had found a measure of peace. Of happiness. And it wound up the prick didn't want any of it. Nothing of what Dean had worked so damn hard his entire life to provide.

Sometimes, life simply wasn't worth it.

Dean shrugged his jacket on and stepped into his boots. You know what? Fuck this. Vessel of Michael? Forty years in hell? An angel that kept leaving him and a brother that didn't want him? Fine.

Fine.

He grabbed his keys and wallet and walked into the library. Sitting at a table was the man Dean had gone to hell for. The man he had run from a burning building with, the man he had sold his soul for. The man who wanted nothing more to do with him.

Fine.

Dean turned without a word and walk towards the garage. With a touch to an old button, the garage bay door opened. The barrel Dean had placed just outside the door stood ready. Stacked inside with wood and kindling, Dean poured just a little liquid fuel to help before he flicked a lighter in. The whoosh of fire usually gave his pyromaniac side a little rush, but he was just cold at the moment. He reached down and picked up the cast iron camp stove that had come from who knows where. The Men of Letters had the strangest shit.

Placing the stove in the open flame, Dean nodded. It wouldn't take long for the fire to reach the right temperature.

He sighed and turned back inside. His eyes lingered for a moment on Baby. He wasn't going to take the Impala. Baby could retire here in this swank garage. Maybe some hunter would one day love her as much as Dean did, but frankly… Right now he needed something different.

Opening the trunk, Dean looked over the trove of weapons. Very few belonged to him alone. Most were either handed down, spoils of war, or flat out stolen. Ah, his sawed off shot gun. He remembered John buying it new and teaching a twelve year old Dean how to saw it off and file the edges smooth so it wouldn't scrap his skin if he needed to hide it under clothing. He grabbed it and a box of normal shells.

He dumped the cell phone he'd been carrying through the open driver's side window. He'd carefully copied a couple of numbers he knew might come in handy, though he had no intention of using them. He was leaving, but he wasn't stupid.

He stood next to the car that had been a part of his life longer than even the man upstairs and pulled his keys and wallet out. Careful not to scratch the paint, he put the keys on the hood and opened the worn wallet.

First he pulled out the tattered picture of him and his mother. It occurred to Dean that she might be the only person in the world that had accepted him and loved him unconditionally before he had a chance to fuck it up. Well, he's managed to rip apart the last shreds of the family she'd made. He didn't really want that reminder anymore.

Mary's picture was placed next to the keys.

It was the work on only a moment for Dean to find the keys to a fully gassed up motorcycle. The leather jacket he found in a small closet near the door to the garage had held some biking gear. Helmets, jackets, and even some sort of weird saddle bags that could fit on the seat and hold stuff. Dean had made use of those last night – packing toiletries and such. Hey clean underwear was damned important.

John's jacket was resting on his freshly made bed. The dirty sheets were in the drier already and the room had been cleared out and cleaned. Dean wasn't going to leave so much as a stray crumb of dirty for Sam to worry about. Clean break. Get it?

He started up the bike and let the loud roar fill his ears as he strapped the helmet on. The headphones he'd plugged in his ears started with the first song his 'road trip' play list.

Carry On My Wayward Son… Yeah. Wayward just about covered it didn't it. Wasn't much of a son, couldn't keep a woman, and even got left by his fucking brother. Peace when he was done his lily white ass.

Dean walked the bike to the opened bay open and stopped. He took the amulet from around his neck and dropped it in the iron stove. It took a minute, but the edges of the metal started to melt.

Nothing of any sentimental value for Sam to use to search for him then. Not that the asshole would even try. The car and the picture of Mary might be possible items, but Sam wouldn't use the photo because it would have to be destroyed. The car was too big. Bam. Done.

And so it began. The Mark of Cain was in the world again, free to roam and without an anchor.

One brother killed by another. One literally and the other figuratively.

As the sound of the motorcycle faded in the cool morning air, the markings on the amulet wavered before giving up and melting into a meaningless pool of metal.

**S-S-S-S-S**

"And to what do I owe the pleasure of your summons?" Crowley asked. The man in front of him was barely more than a shell. Demons could see souls as clearly as angels. How else would they know which souls were worth bargaining for?

"I want to make a deal," the elder Winchester stated much to the King of Hell's shock.

"Excuse me? The last deal I made one with you didn't end so well for me. Pardon me if I decline. But thank you for thinking of me," Crowley straightened his jacket preparing to leave, but the hunter laid a hand on his shoulder.

"You misunderstand me. I'm not offering my soul,"

"And what else could I possibly want from you?"

"You have a campaign to win. I have a very particular set of skills you could use," was the only response.

"Ah. And what about the Moose?"

"What Moose?"

"I see. And in return?"

"In return, you make me untraceable. I want to hunt, and I want to do it without worry. I want funding so I can stay off the grid. And last, but not least – I want that jawbone," Dean said without emotion. Whatever had happened had broken the hunter. That much was clear.

"You want the jawbone, funding, and to be untraceable?" Crowley clarified.

"For starters,"

"I don't do starters Dean. I do clear cut deals for the benefit of myself. What might you want in the future?"

"Metatron dead. Angels off my God damned planet, and other than that? I haven't decided. It's a toss up between a bullet between my eyes, a whore in my bed, or a complete memory wipe."

For once Crowley kept his mouth closed. Dean had the Mark and without it, there was no way to kill Abbadon. On the other hand, the demon had seen plenty of people sell their souls for the sweet release of pain. The torture of Hell did not bother them – in fact many of them embraced the pain when the time came. Such wretches they were.

But for a hunter – the Righteous Man – to think of ending it all… Something was wrong in the order of the universe. Something that spoke of more than just the usual never ending fight for evil to win over good. Something had been thrown off kilter.

Normally, that would be a tick in the win column for him.

"What about your boyfriend?"

"Untraceable Crowley. From everyone. Remove his mark from my soul."

This was as unexpected as it was disturbing. Not because Dean Winchester wasn't a damned valuable weapon, but because things this good didn't come at such a small price.

"I make you untraceable, give you funds, find the jawbone, assist you in killing Metatron and in exchange you offer?"

"I offer to kill your detractors as needed and the only serious threat to your throne. I retain veto on your marks. Remove Cas' grace – don't forget. Do you want anything else?"

"I can't remove an angel's Grace, but I can hide you. And I'm sure I will be thinking of more I want, like yourself. So let's leave this little bargain open ended shall we?"

"You understand I'm only offering services here, not my soul – right?" the hunter's expressionless face was more than a little disconcerting to the demon. Not that everything was happy unicorn rainbows on his side of the proverbially pond, but when a constant changed… The world seemed to change in unexpected ways.

"Well, it'll be interesting to see what services you offer up next then," Crowley smirked.

Dean said nothing. What the hell? Dean was weapon, and he was dangerous. All the best weapons tended to be more than a little lethal to the person who wielded them.

"Lay one on me and let's get this show on the road," he motioned for the hunter to come closer.

What happened next was lightening quick. Crowley found himself slammed against the wall of this flea ridden motel room with Dean mother-fucking Winchester pressed against him from thigh to chest.

"Shut up Crowley," the hunter snarked before he kissed the King of Hell.

It wasn't like most kisses – simply a brush of lips to seal the deal. This was brutal and punishing. There was no pleasure in this contact, only fury. What exactly the hunter was enraged over would be fun finding out, but in the meantime, Crowley had a deal to complete.

He pulled his lips away and brushed a swift kiss to that strong jaw before settling into a bruising kiss on the nape of Dean's neck. It was the work of only a moment before a delightful bruise blossomed on the tender skin.

"And now you're hidden. My mark," Crowley waited for Dean to explode over the location and the method. If anything would send the man off, this would be it. Dancing around his homoerotic angel for years wasn't enough to bring out his inner queen, so he was unlikely to let this pass easily.

"I need some money, a cell phone with a way for us to stay in contact, and a list of your targets," was the only response.

Bloody fucking hell.

**S-S-S-S-S**

"Sam!" Cas yelled through the bunker. Sam closed his eyes for a moment. The last couple of weeks had been awful. Dean was… Dean. There just really wasn't a lot to say about that situation right now. It was Sam's hope that a few months of tough love would end with Dean learning his lesson about respecting boundaries and…

"Sam Winchester. Where are you?" bellowed the frantic voice of the angel.

"Right here," Sam snapped. Screw research for now. Maybe Dean should put his fair share of time in the library. Sam would have to talk to him about that.

The angel raced to the table; his face was pale, and his breathing labored.

"He's gone," Cas panted.

"Who's gone Cas?" Sam thought of all the possilities. God or..

"Dean."

"Yeah, he went out a couple of hours ago," Sam stared at the angel with concern.

"My link to him has been clouded. I cannot feel his emotions nor can I find him," Cas almost yelled.

"Wait, you snoop on Dean's emotions?" the tall man asked.

"You are difficult to talk to Sam Winchester – I will say this slowly, so take notes if you must. Your brother, the man who you told was not your brother anymore, has left. He has magical help in obscuring my mark on him. His cell phone is in the Impala which is in the garage. There is a pot of melted metal I believe was his amulet and here," the angel handed over the dog-eared photo of Mary and Dean.

"This was on the hood of the Impala. Congratulations Sam Winchester. You're an only child now. How proud you must feel to finally be free of such a burden," Castiel, Angel of the Lord sneered at him.

"How can he hide? What…" Sam felt like a wall had just crashed down on him.

"There appears to be demonic influence. I would be able to tell more, but the magic is aimed at me specifically."

"He left?" Sam managed to say. "It was a fight Cas. I mean, yeah I was mostly serious about some of it, but I didn't want him to go…"

"Regardless of what you wanted, it is what you have wrought," Cas said before he flew away.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Three days later, the bodies started to fall. The demons opposing Crowley didn't know what had hit them. It took the King of Hell by surprise the first time he'd given Dean a task; the man was ruthless and almost inhuman when he fought. That would be the influence of being on the rack…

As the hunter dropped the last of nine demons that had tried to attack Crowley, he turned and asked the last question Crowley had expected…

"That's all?"

Oh, great things were afoot. Great things indeed.

**S-S-S-S-S**

**AN** – I was so upset after 9.13 this is what happened. I could write a bigger story, I just needed to get it out. Wanna see more?


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_A man should never neglect his family for business. – Walt Disney_

**S-S-S-S-S**

Crowley had rarely been one to deny himself whatever indulgence he'd wanted in life, and he'd found absolutely no reason to start doing so since becoming a demon. Even as a newly minted crossroads demon, he'd been sure to keep himself in the lap of luxury. It was certainly easier to do when one could simply snap and have whatever their blackened heart desires laid out in front of them, often on a silver platter.

His current accommodations were only moderately adequate. The reason for this abominable downgrade was sitting across from Crowley cleaning a small cache of weapons for the second time while complaining about sulfur.

Some might find it out of character for the King of Hell to cater to a human, even one as powerful as Dean Winchester; those who did were simple minded. The fact that Crowley had been able to climb the corporate ladder of Hell's hierarchy was a testament to his ability at keeping an eye on the end game. Currently, keeping Dean comfortable and as close to happy as possible was in the demon's best interest.

To say nothing of the fact that the elder Winchester was an extremely interesting subject. The man had single-handedly thwarted Heaven and Hell at the same time. The man would claim he'd done it with help from any number of people including his angel and brother, but the truth was far more complex. The roles those two had played were important, no doubt; the fact remained that they were replaceable; Dean was not.

The vessel of Michael could have changed the course of events even if his brother had given in and allowed the Morning Star in. Crowley had spent ages thinking about the strategy of helping Lucifer or Dean. The end game, remember? The end was power, and Crowley wouldn't have as much if Lucifer was freed into the world.

That plan had tattered several times needing to be revised and revisited more than a needy whore. Every time he'd been able to bloody well set up a play that would keep Lucifer from winning, Dean would come up with some ill-thought out 'plan' so incredibly stupid that one was hard pressed to adjust course without being found out. The Winchesters would never know about the strings Crowley had pulled to make sure certain things lined up to help their cause. Crowley's cause.

And now, the man sitting across from him again held the key to the balance of power in Hell. If Dean decided to align himself with Abaddon, all would be lost. So it was in everyone's best interest to make sure Dean's good graces were kept.

Consequently, Crowley found himself in a moderately sized rural farmhouse holed up with Dean. It was warded and complete with warm, not hot of course, running water. The admittedly attractive martyr would feel guilty if his surroundings were too nice. Too long living hand to mouth and one filthy motel to another.

It was also more than vaguely frustrating to not have the full story. Part of Crowley's approach depended on knowing Deans motives; something happened that changed a vital part of the man and without that key bit of information, the demon couldn't tailor his approach.

"So, how's the boyfriend?" he tried.

"Have you found the jawbone yet?" Dean countered without looking up from his polishing cloth that was rubbing the barrel of his twelve gauge in what Crowley considered an indefinably obscene manner.

"If I had it, you'd have it Squirrel," he spat out. He was going to have to push a few buttons; That was extremely vexing. Pushing without knowing the outcome was dangerous.

Finally, Dean looked up and stared at Crowley. The eyes weren't dead exactly… Just different.

"Then look harder," Dean said and then pressed his full lips closed and put the gun down. The knife he picked up next caught the light and seemed to draw Crowley's attention.

"I have my best and brightest on it," he assured the hunter.

"Then your best aren't very good," the knife glittered with an unholy shine. Crowley had given Dean that weapon to help dispatch the targets. That traitorous bitch Ruby wasn't the only one with a demon killing blade. Crowley's was, naturally, much more elegant. Unfortunately the man in front of him just complained about getting dried blood out of the inlaid metal work.

"What would you suggest, pussy cat?"

"They always say if you want something done right, you need to do it yourself," Dean suggested with a raised eyebrow. Crowley sighed and stood up.

"Fine. Anything to keep my handsome hunter happy. Toodles," Crowley smirked and removed himself all the way to the bottom of the world's oceans. They were dark and cold, which he could live with that if it weren't for the mind numbing sameness. It was as dull as Hell was when frozen over; if there was one thing Crowley could speak to, it was the conditions in Hell, frozen or not.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Dean sighed as the demon took his leave. The shithead wasn't trustworthy, but at least Dean could depend on him to react when provoked. Right now trust was something Dean didn't have a lot of. It had been almost a month since he'd taken the motorcycle and walked out of his old life. Well, out of the burning ruins of his life.

As with all things, his days had found a new pattern. Crowley had put them up in this old house and assured the hunter it was safe from prying eyes. Dean had made sure to keep his thoughts off Cas in case it called him to this safe haven.

And how screwed up was that? His current home, provided by a demon, was his safe haven? On the other hand, Crowley had turned out to be fairly good company. They'd spent hours playing cards, even going so far as to hit a couple of high roller tables in Vegas a week ago for shits and giggles.

One thing was for sure: playing Texas Hold 'em with a demon was entertaining as hell as long as you weren't up against him. Crowley made sure to cheat like a son of a bitch. Dean's cards would change in front of his eyes, and Crowley would be sure to make the river show the exact cards Dean needed. The men at the table had finally called it a night with disgust. The pot had been more than a year of hustling pool in smoky bars.

That night Crowley and Dean had stayed in a penthouse at The Venetian. Talk about swank – the hot water never ran out and the bed had wrapped him in a warm embrace the moment he laid down. The groan his weary body had forced from him was enough for the demon to make a comment about Dean needing to allow himself a little luxury every once in a while.

Honestly, when the mattress showed up the next night in the farm house… Well, Dean was willing to sleep on it even if it did come from the King of Hell. Seriously, the mattress was that good.

Sam would have loved how long the freakin'… Whatever.

Dean had become very good at forcing himself to not go there. When Sam had left for college, the pain had almost been overwhelming. It was like the other half of his soul had walked away; he'd been gutted in a way he'd never expected from somebody he'd trusted to have his back.

Look, no matter how fucked up it had been, it was really simple. Dean had been trained from birth that no matter what happened, no matter how badly they screwed up – Family stuck together. It took until the night Sam told him they couldn't be brothers that Dean got it.

He didn't need this. Dean was a damned good hunter, a pretty together guy, and didn't need the weight of a man who clearly wasn't worth his devotion. How many times had Sam screwed him over when they were together?

Telling himself they were a good team. Over and over making excuses covering for his baby brother; why he'd left, and why he'd accepted Dean was in Hell and hadn't lifted a finger. It was never Sam's fault, always something Dean had done to deserve it. Damn, he sounded like an abuse victim.

In the moment that Sam had sort of shrugged and walked out of the room, Dean had realized that he never really knew his brother. He knew who Sam was as a kid, and knew he was a strong hunter. Sam was smart, and could be deadly, but the man himself? Nope. Not even a clue what drove him.

Dean had always assumed it was the same fire that drove their Dad, even Dean himself. Turned out, Sam just wanted to be somebody else. Not a Winchester. Not Dean's brother.

And Dean had finally had enough. Something Sam had always misunderstood about his older brother… something nobody had ever really gotten was just how strong Dean was.

Did they all think his forty years in Hell had been a bad dream? Even Cas, who had seen him ripping the flesh from a sinner, assured Dean of his bright soul. As if being bright and shiny equaled weak and needy. Yeah, he had needed Sam, but mostly Dean just wanted to be needed. He needed purpose.

And now he had it.

It had taken these last few weeks to work out exactly who he was without his… without his old purpose. He was still able to save people, hunt things. And if the family business had gone from the Winchester brothers, to simply Dean Winchester - that was just what it was.

Standing up Dean cracked his neck. It was time he take what he wanted back. The man he had raised may still be in the bunker, but he wasn't Dean's only option for a hunting partner. Crowley might be good company, much to Dean's everlasting shock, but he wasn't a hunter. He was a salesman. Dean needed a warrior.

Walking out the front door, Dean checked the sky out of habit before pulling the helmet off the railing and buckling it on. He knew the perfect place to put his plan in action. The diner was about twenty miles away from the house and didn't seem to have too many regulars, just a lot of people coming and going.

He parked in back of the low building and did something he hadn't done in what felt like a lifetime.

_"Cas – I'm at Marietta Diner on Highway 41 in Marietta Georgia. I'm here for the next hour if you want to talk. Dean."_ Dean prayed. There wasn't much question about Cas showing up. The main question was if Cas would stay once the terms were laid out.

"Dean," the angel said from across the booth before Dean had even placed his order. See?

"Before you say anything else, one rule: do not, in any way mention what I don't want to talk about." The hunter looked the angel in the eye as he doodled on a napkin.

"We – I have been concerned," Cas, master of understatement, said in his rough voice.

"Yeah, I figured. I know you've got questions, but understand I'm not joking about what I said. Not going to talk or listen about it. Deal?" Dean tapped the table to get Cas' attention. There, on the napkin, was a perfectly drawn angel banishing sigil.

"Understood," was all Cas said with a terse nod of his head.

"Okay, ask your questions and let's get that crap out of the way, then we can get down to business."

"Are you safe?" was the first question. Dean was a little surprised, but on reflection he could understand why that would be on the top of Cas' list.

"Yes. You know what happened?" Dean pointed to a picture of pie and held up two fingers as the waitress walked up.

"I read S- I was worried so I may have overstepped a line in trying to obtain information." Ha! Cas totally went through Sam's head. About damn time somebody else got that special treatment.

"I'm sure that was pleasant," Dean said.

"It was not. I prefer your thoughts; they are less chaotic. Why can't I find you or hear you?" Cas' brow was furrowed deep.

"Afraid that's not as easy one to explain-" Dean started as Cas' eyes zeroed in on the mark Crowley had left. Damn, should have worn a collared shirt to cover up the hickey that never seemed to fade.

"A demon?" Cas' voice had taken on a new tone, and Dean knew he was losing control of the conversation. Crap.

"You ever seen anything like this?" Dean ignored the question and pulled his sleeve up enough to show the angel the mark that had been left on his forearm.

"The Mark of Cain. How did you acquire it?" Cas' entire body tensed.

"Was a little gift from the man himself," Dean rolled his eyes. "Amazingly enough, Cain's been a little closed mouth about the – uh… side effects."

"Why Dean?" was the only thing the angel asked.

"To kill Abaddon. Everything is about killing that bitch now," Dean shrugged like it was no big deal, but in fact he knew it could very well wind up being a monumentally stupid thing. The stupid Mark didn't hurt, just raised discolored skin on the surface. But inside, Dean felt changed.

"But Cain became a Knight of Hell," the question was left unspoken.

"Honestly? The guy didn't come off a knight of anything. Mostly he kept bees and cooked. I mean, if that's what this thing does, that actually sounds like torture of the boring kind," Dean joked. He decided to not mention the whole house lighting up with the screams of demons echoing through the night.

The recharged angel didn't seem like he was in a place to deal with that level of detail with an open mind.

"Dean, I would like your new phone number," Cas managed to get out before he was interrupted by a scoff from the man walking towards the booth.

"Sounds like your boyfriend is a little clingy Squirrel," Crowley smirked. For once Dean was thankful for Crowley's ability to show up at the exact wrong moment. Explaining to his angel why they wouldn't be exchanging numbers and braiding each other's hair wasn't something he was looking forward to. Best to use that Winchester classic of complete avoidance.

"Crowley," Cas said with as much venom as was possible for a being of light and love. "You should leave."

"Hello to you too Sparkles. Dean, we have business to attend to. Now." Crowley raised an eyebrow. Dean nodded; time to spill some more demon blood. Good times.

"Cas, I'll see you later," he said as he stood up and tossed a couple of bills on the table next to his uneaten pie.

"Dean, Sam and I –"

"I warned you. _Leave_," Dean said with a low voice. Asshole angels not listening. Cas disappeared, and Crowley snorted.

"Obedient little thing isn't he, your little pussy cat?"

"Shut up Crowley," Dean shrugged his jacket on and motioned to the door. "Let's get it over with; I have plans tonight."

"What plans?"

"Me, my good friend alcohol, and maybe some porn or a hooker. Haven't decided on the last part," Dean walked across the parking lot and hopped on the bike. To his surprise, Crowley threw his leg over the seat behind Dean.

"I can do you one better," Crowley said in his ear. "I know a place you can get drunker than a sailor and have some live action entertainment."

Dean shivered because yeah… That did sound better. Plus, motel porn tended to be repeats after a while and hookers could be hit or miss.

The night was looking up. But first, time to go kill.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Castiel frowned. When Dean had told him to leave, his entire body had felt punched into another dimension. Dean had banished him with only a word. It seemed like that Mark was more than a simple Scarlett Letter of sorts.

Luckily, the angel had learned a thing or two from his hunters. There was a small tracking object he had been carrying for the past few weeks that was now hidden under the seat of the motorcycle that had sat in the garage of the Bunker. Once Cas had recovered from his banishment, it was the work of only a few moments to fly to Dean's location.

The sight that greeted Cas was shocking to say the least. The hunter stood in the center of a circle of black eyed demons. His eyes were hooded, and his feet were slightly spread in the manner of a warrior preparing for an attack. Cas remained hidden, but pulled his sword in case he needed to help his human.

"The one in the center is your mark Dean," Crowley called from where he was leaning against the wall. None of the demons even looked at the King of Hell, which Cas found odd. There were more than enough demons to spread around.

Even Heaven was watching the power struggle between Crowley and Abaddon, so this little encounter was not exactly shocking. What was startling was the tense nod from Dean.

"Ah, the King's bitch gets ordered around, how cute," one demon snarked.

"I bet Crowley rewards you real well – do you like to bend over or lay down?"

Castiel felt the disbelief course through him. He'd heard rumors of Crowley having a new weapon, but never had it occurred to them it might be his hunter.

"So Dean, how does your baby brother feel about you taking it up the a-." The sentence was never finished as Dean pulled a sheathed knife from his leg holster and made an upward slash that gutted the demon in one smooth movement. Nothing about his bearing had changed; his attention simply shifted to the next closest target.

"You'll pay for that hunter," the one Crowley had pointed out pulled a gun out from his waistband. Dean didn't even flinch. "You just signed a death warrant on Lucifer's Vessel."

If the demon thought Dean would react, he was sorely disappointed. The man didn't even roll his shoulders like Cas had seen him do numerous times as he prepared for an attack. In the time it took for the demon to blink, the green eyed man had brought his long blade up and arced a strong slice that took his target's head off in a clean cut. Without pausing, Dean let his momentum turn him around and the blade continued on its path of destruction.

The demon that had been approaching from behind him hissed in pained shock as the blade plunged through his vessel. Even Castiel had to replay the moment in his mind to follow the simple perfect precision of that attack.

"You're going to regret that Winchester – Abaddon will make sure your brother is six feet under for your treason," the black eyed demon sneered.

"She's welcome to try," Dean tossed back as he threw the blade that landed in the center of the threatening demon's forehead. The room filled with smoke as the remaining demons fled the room.

As Dean walked over to the fallen vessel of a blonde woman, Dean pulled his blade out of her skull. He bent down and closed her eyes as Crowley started to give a little golf clap.

"Well done, but a few escaped. Samantha might need a little heads up right about now. We can stop in before dinner," Crowley said looking around the empty room after checking his watch.

"No. Let's just go," Dean wiped the blood off on the shirt of one the fallen.

"Well well, never thought I'd see the day you'd toss Moose to the wolves. Welcome to the dark side mate," Crowley threw an arm around Dean's shoulders.

"Not my problem. Either he knows how to protect himself like a hunter should or he doesn't. His choice. But, Cas'll tell him anyway," Dean shrugged the arm off his shoulders.

"Your boyfriend isn't here love."

Dean looked up and his eyes landed on the exact spot Castiel had hidden himself. The angel felt his corporal body manifest without his consent.

"Stop following me Castiel. I'm not Heaven's concern; I would hate to think I'm being spied on," Dean's voice didn't waver, and Cas nodded without saying a word and fled.

He took flight and found himself on the top of a mountain in the Alps. Something had happened to his hunter – it wasn't a spell or possession, but Dean was changed at a very basic level. The churning in his Grace told Cas that it had something to do with Sam and the Mark of Cain.

Sam's carelessly cruel words and thoughtless rejection of his brother might have been the catalyst, but this… This wasn't the work of anything Holy.

And everybody, even angels, knew that never equaled anything pleasant.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Crowley nodded to himself as his weapon frowned. Seemed like there were some new powers coming out. Now the main concern was identifying and channeling them in the most productive way. Well, productive for Crowley.

Dean Winchester was phenomenal but, there were other issues the King of Hell was running into with that one. It honestly surprised Crowley that Dean was declining to warn his baby brother about the direct threat; seemed the demon had underestimated the severity of the split between the two.

The other little problem Crowley had run into was the fact that Dean was actually likeable when he wasn't actively trying to kill his person. They had wicked good fun in Vegas; much to Crowley's disgust, he found himself wondering what the hunter might enjoy next.

Well, aside from Abaddon's blood flowing across the floor from her lifeless corpse.

Maybe a delightful little brewery or distillery. Possibly a really mouthwatering steak would help get Dean to open up about…

Crowley mentally smacked himself. He was planning a bloody date with the twat; this had to stop. One did not date ones weapons. Even if they were exceedingly good at demonic card sharping.

Best to stick to tried and true.

"I found a delightful little strip club for our entertainment tonight. I've generously decided to spring for a private dance or two if you find a birdie," Crowley forced a smile. Nothing wrong with his weapon having a bit of debauchery.

Nothing at all.

**S-S-S-S-S**

**AN:**

So, due to great demand I wrote some more. It took a few days to get a story arc worthy of Dean manning up. So just a few warnings – I love HEA (Happily ever after), but this isn't my standard love smut story. As far as spoilers, I'm going to create some things here which *might* line up with season 9, but nothing beyond 9.13 is cannon on purpose.

Also, no idea how long this story will turn out to be or a schedule for updating. I will say that feedback help – I was bowled over and even wrote this update before one for my other story (which should have been first really).

And did you spot the movie quote in the last chapter. As you can see below, I footnote a TON, but I didn't for the last chapter (thought it was going to be a one off), so I'm wondering if anybody caught it.

Morning Star – Lucifer's name in Heaven

Marietta Diner – the place is plated with reflective mirror like plating and looks like a freaking Art Deco work of art. Also, great food.

Scarlett Letter – a letter forced to be worn on clothing to mark a person of a crime (as per the book of the same name: adultery)


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake. - Napoleon_

**S-S-S-S-S**

Sam slammed the book closed and collapsed back into the chair. No information in any of the lore on the Mark of Cain. Actually, not just a lack of information; there was no mention of the Mark in any way at all aside from the Biblical story.

And Cas was next to no help. He'd come back and told Sam to start researching the Mark and refused to even tell Sam why the sudden interest. It didn't take a genius to figure out the angel had spoken to Dean. Of course, when asked directly, Cas had just frowned and flown off.

It had taken a full week until Sam had finally gotten more than a sentence out of Cas. Yeah, that hadn't been pleasant.

_"Cas, is Dean hurt or in trouble?" Sam had almost tripped over his words trying to get them out before the angel left. Again._

_"Why do you keep asking Sam?" was the only response._

_"I'm worried. Dean doesn't just leave like that with no word or note or something," the pressure in Sam's chest actually hurt when he thought about what could have happened to his brother._

_"I think you are mistaken. Dean has walked away from many people in his life; he just never walked away from his brother. Of course, now he does not have one does he?" It was scary to be on the receiving end of Cas' wrath._

_"I didn't want him to leave!"_

_"You wanted him to stay here and hunt with you while you withheld your brotherly affection from him as punishment for his actions. The one thing that would ruin him – you planned on holding it over his head to torture him," Cas shook his head in disgust._

_"That wasn't – Look, he made decisions I didn't want made for me!" Sam rejoined. Dean wasn't exactly completely innocent._

_"That is right. I forgot Dean held your life above his own as a thing of value, to be cherished and defended at all costs. What a burden that must have been on you. Being loved so much is, after all, the worst of the human condition," Castiel seemed to get bigger while not actually changing in any way Sam could see._

_"I-," Sam couldn't even get another word out._

_"Cease speaking and listen for once you vain human. Dean Winchester followed the will of God in his love for you. He obeyed faithfully and selflessly at his own peril repeatedly. He is held in the highest regard by archangel and demons alike," the lights flickered as Castiel's cheeks turned a deep red._

_"And you? He altered the course of history to keep you from harm. No other human can claim to have thwarted the Host or Hell separately, much less together. But he did. For you. And you act as if you are the offended party," Castiel's deep voice took on a vibrating resonance as he spoke, each word crashed against Sam's whole body louder than the last._

_"You dared to reject devotion from the Righteous Man, Michael's vessel. You. The chosen of the Morning Star to destroy the Earth and humanity. You who willing partook of the body of a demon. You would drink the blood of a demon, but not the blood of Christ to beg forgiveness. – You have the impudence to dare inflict pain on him for his love of you?" For a moment… For just a glorious moment Sam saw the shadow of black wings springing from Cas' back._

"We will not discuss this again. You will think on this, but your thoughts are of no interest to me," the angel pulled himself together.

_"I'm sor-," Sam tried to apologize. It – he'd never thought about in those terms. The tightness in his chest felt like a weight trying to crush him._

_"I do not care for your feelings on the matter. You will not ask me about him again," Cas smoothed his coat down before turning his fierce blue eyes to stare at Sam without blinking._

_"Do not summon me again unless you have the information you are researching for me. I am not your personal angel to be called down at your whim." Cas frowned as he tilted his head. _

_"In answer to the thoughts running through your head, yes. Yes, I answered Dean's prayers when he needed me. I am an angel of the Lord – I am drawn to those souls touched by the divine, the righteous. You? In the rest of your life, I doubt your soul could ever shine with a fraction of the brightness of Dean Winchester's," Cas seemed to have finally said his peace. There was almost complete silence as the only sound was Sam's heavy breathing._

_Sam nodded his head. That was loud and clear; while Sam had always suspected Cas was mostly there for Dean, it was rather painful to hear the angel's real opinion of him. It was lower than Sam had guessed._

_"I'm going to put some calls out to some colleges and a hunter with connections in the Vatican in the morning. If you could possibly, um… help convince him to help get the information for us. With your mojo or whatever? I mean, it just might help. But I'll do my best of course," Sam put his elbows on his knees and bent over to brace his head in his hands. He was a fucking idiot. In just so many ways._

_"Yes, you are," was all Cas said before the rustle of feathers announced his departure. _

Yeah. So that was the sum of Sam's life now. He'd gotten exactly what he asked for – no brother; it had honestly never occurred to him that Dean would decide to leave. To not hunt together. He just hadn't thought about how much their lives had intertwined over time; now he found himself in the less than enviable position of finding out who their friends would side with. Like a divorce almost.

It seemed like when Sam finally got to make his own choices, he screwed stuff up royally.

Which was why the youngest Winchester sat in front of his laptop going over data and emails he'd collected trying to get information together for Cas – it was the only way he knew to try and make up for his transgressions.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Tapping his foot on the bare floor, Crowley felt his patience quickly running out. He was bored; it was the first time in his recent memory he could remember not having his plate so full it sometimes spilled over.

"Come on, let's go make some trouble somewhere," the demon stood up as he tried to get Dean to get out of the house. Again. Who knew the man was such a home body.

"Where you wanna' go man?" Dean asked.

Well, bloody hell. It may have been a good idea to have thought this out further so he'd have answers to obvious questions like that. He was losing it when it came to Dean Winchester. The sodding twat was getting under Crowley's skin.

"I know a place in Boston that has a forgotten storeroom from Prohibition that has an excellent assortment of whiskey if you're interested," Crowley played the one card he was positive would work.

"Is it warded?" Dean asked.

And that right there was an excellent example of why Crowley felt thrown off his game with this human. It was a perfectly valid question; they were, after all, in the middle of a fight for control of Hell. But Dean wasn't the one who usually thought about those sorts of things. He was the one who started putting his shoes on at the word whiskey and never worried about backup plans.

Until now it seemed.

Now… Now his weapon was thinking like a general in war. Everything was about the goals and progress to the end. More vexing? Crowley wasn't completely certain of Dean's new goals. The hunter was most certainly not throwing his lot in with Hell in general, and that left the question of what he wanted.

"It's not bloody warded; nobody even remembers it exists," Crowley growled.

"You remembered – somebody else might as well," Dean pointed out.

"Fine, then bring your arsenal. Doesn't matter where we fight the as long as there are adequate libations," Crowley drawled.

"I understood about half of that. Whatever man, let's roll," Dean picked up a bag that he'd placed his weapons in after cleaning them last. The man was nothing if not thorough in his careful stewardship of the various blades and guns he relied on. Crowley liked to feel he was taking such care of his most valuable weapon as well.

If only he could figure out what the smegging hell Dean needed to feel well taken care of. It wouldn't do at all to lose him as an ally or an asset in this skirmish. Much to Crowley's displeasure, every time he had an errand for Dean, the man would pause to think about if he would comply. That damned phrasing in the contract about Dean being able to veto an assignment – Crowley was getting lazy to have let that rubbish through.

Plus, against all odds, Crowley found himself drawn to the well-built man.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Dean looked around the small room. The smell of dust was heavy, but the walls were lined with wooden racks holding bottles of hooch. This forgotten safe room for liquor during the dark days of prohibition was like a dream.

As Crowley lit more candles, small details began to take shape. The walls were old plaster that seemed to be holding up well considering this place must have been sealed for eighty years or more. In the center stood a wood table with several types of glasses. Wine, champagne, and shot were the only ones Dean knew for sure off hand.

On the far wall was what remained of a doorway. The lathe and plaster showed this was truly a lost space. Not a locked door, or an unused musty storage room, but a true relic in the great history of alcohol.

Dean picked up a bottle and wiped the grime from the label. A Brandy of some kind… Just rotted wine in his opinion. The next bottle was a little more interesting as it contained some old school Tequila. The worm was floating in a couple of pieces in the bottom of the liquid – well, that was certainly less than appealing.

There were also wines that that Sam – whatever. Stupid girly wines.

A sneeze worked its way through Dean's nose as Crowley kicked up even more dust pulling bottle after bottle and putting them on the table. Dean took a seat and took a closer look. Now, he knew he wasn't an expert on fancy drinks, but Dean knew a lot about how much they cost. He'd sip his cheap whiskey and wish he could afford the nice bottles that were way too pricey for the credit cards he used fraudulently.

The whiskeys… Dean had never even heard of most of them. Aisla T'Orten, Glevavon, and Macallan where the first to be popped. Dean had heard of Macallan, but thought it was insane to spend that kind of money on alcohol. Frankly, even in his dreams, the Macallan whiskeys were too rich for his blood.

Crowley saw his gaze and opened the bottle and poured a splash in their suspiciously clean shot glasses.

"Bottoms up mate," the demon said before taking a small sip. The way his eyes closed and he licked his lips was a little over kill in Dean's opinion, but it did smell good.

After his first sip, Dean decided his soul might not be too much to pay for a lifetime supply of the fabled pricey whiskey. However, if Crowley wanted to bring him such delights without paying such a high price, Dean wasn't fool enough to turn it down.

Damn slight better than the PBR they usually sucked down in crappy third rate motels. They cracked open bottle after bottle; some were dismissed, somewhere relieved of quite a bit of their amber liquid goodness.

The air had grown warm with the candles that burned for light and the body heat of two people in such a small space. Well, one person and one demon. Whatever. Plus, Dean may have had a little too much to drink.

A lot of a little too much. A lot much?

"Is a lot much a word?" Dean asked aloud.

"It's several words," Crowley replied as he continued to sip from the latest bottle.

"Right, but it is a real word?"

"You're sloshed darling," the demon gave a low laugh.

"Nah, I'm fluid. Flowy," Dean smiled for what felt like the first time in a lifetime.

"I wanna' do something," Dean stood up. Tried to stand up. Dean mostly leaned against a wall and scooted himself into a vaguely upright position. He might not be in any shape to drive, but he wasn't drunk. Even he knew whiskey was for sipping, not getting wasted.

"What do you have in mind?"

"Dunno. Maybe we could go steal a car?" Dean needed a set of wheels with a roof. The rain sucked when he had to transport his guns and crap. He spent an ass load of time making sure they were dry before putting them up.

"While I support such deviant behavior in general, might I suggest something with a little more sophistication; something that won't get you pulled over immediately? Maybe something with a little more panache than a random sedan," the demon asked.

"Umm – sure?" Dean wasn't completely sure what Crowley had just said, but he sounded like he had an idea. His ideas had been a lot of fun lately.

And really, that was the main problem. When Dean was sober, he could hold on to the knowledge that nothing the King of Hell did was for anyone's benefit but his own. In the clear light of day, it was easy to shrug off comments that tempted Dean to do stupid things, trade things.

"How about I get you a car of your very own? Whatever gas guzzler you want in fact," he offered with the face of an innocent. That must have been why Dean found himself nodding.

"Any car I want?"

"In return, you tell me what happened between you and Samantha?" the demon finished. Dean about choked. No. That wasn't going to be on the table. Not now, not ever. And why did he even want to know about their fight anyway?

"Might have been good whiskey dude, but not good enough for that."

"I most strongly object to the use of the mere word 'good' in relation to this fine bottle of single malt. Mind your mouth next time you describe this juice of the Gods. Well, the Pagan Gods anyway. Not that sod upstairs," the demon rolled his eyes.

"Never mind – I'm too trashed to do this," Dean frowned and shook his head. The demon leaned over and tapped his head. The cool breeze that washed the fuzzy warm drunkenness was refreshing, but it also meant that comforting cocoon of thoughtlessness was gone.

"I apologize. Why don't we talk about your boyfriend then? What's going on between the two of you wacky kids?" he almost purred.

It could have been an innocent suggestion, but the light of curiosity was plain in the demon's eyes.

Rarely did Crowley make mistakes; it was one of his defining features. But to make two so close together… Dean was sober now and could think things through; that wasn't in Crowley's best interest. Plus, the hunter now knew two bargaining chips to use if he needed something from the demon.

"Try again?" Dean suggested.

Crowley tapped his finger against his chin in thought. Dean could do without a car, but he had a feeling Crowley was feeling the balance of power in their arrangement was leaning too far towards Dean. Normally, the hunter had back-up, but not now.

Cas would come if needed, but he would not back any plays Dean made in regards to the whole helping Crowley thing. And Sam… well, that wasn't happening. Ever. So really, Dean needed the demon as an ally for the time being.

"I could use a little help collecting on a debt owed to me by a rather uncooperative costumer," the King of Hell replied. "A little leverage you might say."

"You want me to rough somebody up in return for a car?" Dean knew he was missing something. Why would he be needed for beating the crap out of somebody. "Release the hounds man. I'm not really hired muscle."

"It's rather sticky. The afore mentioned satisfied customer seems to have barricaded himself in a neatly protected building. Salt, wards, the whole nine. So, if a human could walk in and bring him out, I could do the rest."

"The guy got his soul's worth?" Dean asked. He really didn't know why he asked; he just needed to stall for time while he thought things through. He wasn't thrilled about helping in the collection of a soul, but he also understood the value of keeping ones word. You couldn't screw Hell over – well, unless your last name was Winchester.

"All the money he could ever want and more. No children and his lovely wife who regularly bangs her yoga instructor will be well taking care of. The mistress he keeps has likewise been more than compensated for her time," Crowley answered.

"Fine. I want a 2014 Dodge Challenger SRT V8 392 Hemi, phantom black. And I'll bring your 'customer' outside to discuss his late payment," Dean knew he should feel dirtier than he did. He'd just agreed to send a soul to the place he'd been tortured for forty years. But he'd gone to save someone and had only gained comfort in knowing his brother was safe.

This guy? His guy didn't value his soul; Dean was finding it difficult to value it when it was so easily bargained away for material wealth.

"Sounds like we've reached a bargain," Crowley's mouth turned up in the corner.

"Do we really have to kiss? I mean, can't we just say deal and each keep our word?" Dean cringed at how whiny he sounded. It was just a kiss; Dean had kissed tons of women. Of course, the fact remained that he'd never kissed any man but Crowley. And kissing the demon was…

The whole thing might have been easier to ignore if the kiss they'd sealed the last deal with hadn't been… Fuck. It had been hot. Not that Dean got off thinking about it or anything, but it wasn't terrible. Which led to some questions he wasn't in the mood to think about.

Questions like if kissing Crowley wasn't awful, what would kissing a man he actually liked be like? A man like his angel. And of course that opened up the whole can of worms about how Cas would feel about kissing Dean.

On the other hand, if Dean wanted to test a couple of urges out, Crowley had made it clear he was more than willing; that was more than mildly terrifying.

Gah – screw it. Dean wasn't even all that curious. It was just the whole dry spell thing that was getting to him.

"Are you suggesting that you trust a demon to keep his word without a sealed contract?" Crowley gave a low chuckle.

"Whatever freak. Just come kiss me and let's get this over with," Dean scowled.

"I think you need to come kiss me," the demon grinned. He was just doing this to be difficult. Dean knew this was more about power than the act. Stupid demons.

"Freak," the hunter muttered again. He walked over and ghosted his lips across the King of Hell's. It was so quick he barely registered they'd actually touched. Bam – done!

"Not so fast Peaches. Intent is what seals the deal. You intended to skip the kiss, so…" Crowley shrugged as if he was just the bearer of bad news. Dean tried to remember if it was okay to kill the messenger if they were pains in the ass.

"Fine. Asshole," Dean added before leaning in and pressing his mouth to the demon's again.

This was what Dean had been trying to avoid. The feeling of warm lips under his own – the urge to wrap a willing body in his arms and feel a connection. The surge of want that spiked through his body. A body that appeared to not care at all the gender or demonic persuasion of the other person.

His traitorous tongue licked the seam of Crowley's mouth; a deep breath came out when the other man's mouth opened and their tongues tangled together. It really shouldn't feel so damned good. And the guilt that twirled around in his gut shouldn't be so easy to ignore.

In all kisses, there is the smallest of movements that signals the end. When Dean felt that shift from Crowley, his hand snaked up and roughly grabbed the back of the demon's neck to hold him still. To force him to submit to Dean's desire to continue the kiss.

There was more than one way to have power and control. Dean had so little of either lately, he was going to take what he could right now.

The kiss wasn't gentle; it was a battle. It wasn't until a small noise from deep in the chest of the man under him that Dean snapped out of it. He was kissing a demon – this was how Sam started with that Ruby bitch.

Whatever – Dean pulled away without warning and turned away. Cas should have been the one he tried kisses out on. Maybe. Or maybe Dean really needed to find a solid female hunter who knew the score when it came to dating a target like Dean.

Or maybe Dean needed to just push the whole thing deep down in the dark like every other mistake he'd ever made, and make due with Rosie Palm and her five sisters.

Crap – no more deals with Crowley. Dean had enough to deal with without a semi-expected gay freak-out. Crowley had been right about one thing – Dean was a complete hedonist and took pleasure where he found it. The only thing that was really a surprise was how long it took the hunter to wonder about the pleasure that a male body could supply. Too bad guys didn't have boobs... Dean really liked a nice firm perky rack.

Damn it.

**S-S-S-S-S**

AN:

Aisla T'Orten is a 105 year old aged whiskey ($1.4 million/bottle)

1926 Macallan Fine and Rare whiskey (75k/bottle)

Glenavon Special Liqueur Whisky – Whiskey from this distiller comes from pre-1850's when it closed down.

Challenger - of the current crop of muscle cars, that one stays the truest to the original. I also think Dean would shy away from another true classic car. Too many memories. Plus, I want that car. In orange though.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_That which does not kill us makes us stronger – Fredrick Neitzsche_

**S-S-S-S-S**

They pulled up in front of the graveyard. As Dean cut the engine to his new car, Crowley scanned the quiet in front of them. They were scheduled to interrupt some lackeys of Abaddon in a few minutes. The bitch wanted some bones of a virgin or something Crowley couldn't be knackered to remember. All he could think about right now was how very disturbing Dean Winchester was when he was in a car he 'loved'.

Crowley's first twinge of unease had come as Dean had picked this one out. His hands had caressed the hood, the bumper, and the roof like he was an old lover coming back to see the light of his life. Then the moan of appreciation as the hunter slid into the leather seats. Crowley scrubbed his brain.

It had to be just him – surely the man didn't have an automobile fetish?

"We'll be right back Love," Dean said as he patted the dashboard. That was another thing; the car had a name.

"I doubt your vehicle cares when you return Dean. I, on the other hand, have an appointment with several of Abaddon's helper elves in a few minutes. Can we postpone this disgusting display of idol worship until after you've dispatched them?" Crowley would admit he was a little jealous of the car.

"Love, he didn't mean that – Crowley's just got a stick shoved up his ass," Dean all but purred. His hands caressed the wheel; the demon grunted and got out. If Dean needed private time to tell his car goodbye… Well, that wasn't something Crowley wanted to be a part of. Now, if Dean Winchester wanted to pet Crowley's body like that…

Dean had been excited for this little soirée all week. He'd been practicing new powers; it started with little pushes of power to move a cup or stir the air. Sometimes, Dean would talk about how to separate a demon from its host, but Crowley generally thought that was a waste of time. A blade would do the job and leave no room for doubt that the demon was dead.

"You Limey bastard – if you slam her doors again, we'll go a round – got it?" Dean actually looked upset.

"Of course," the King of Hell didn't even bother trying to hide when he rolled his eyes. Maybe this was mistaken affection since Sam was out of the picture? Had Dean been this obsessive over that old black car?

The bickering continued as they strolled through the graveyard. It always amazed Crowley how very few of these were consecrated. In retrospect, they should have kept their conversation to an absolute minimum and lowered their voices.

The attack came from behind, which made the two of them dimwitted as best for walking right past the blighters. It was only five this time, but by the time Crowley became aware of the nature of the attack, Dean had already ended one of them. Crowley needed constant vigilance in this damned battle for the throne to Hell.

Dean killing Abaddon's demons? Excellent. Dean 'trying something new' while being attacked by said demons? Not Excellent.

The hunter held his hand up and slowly closed his long fingers towards his palm as if he was trying to grip something. The strangled sounds from the remaining demons was enough to give Crowley pause. There was nothing he could see, but clearly Dean was doing something that was messing with these buggers without touching.

As long as that little power was held in reserve for Crowley's enemies, it was useful. The fact that Dean wasn't bound beyond this mission? That was worrisome.

Mouths opened and black smoke poured out from the vessels. It roiled and tried to leave, but somehow Dean was holding it there. Somehow, the hunter had figured out not just a way to banish from a vessel, but to bind them in true form as well.

With a little grunt in the back of his throat, Dean released the smoke. On the ground were three unconscious vessels, one dead, and a fifth looking for all the world like it was trying to crawl away or crawl out of the vessel.

"Just kill it and let's move on," Crowley managed to sound both bored and exasperated.

"Nah, let's have a little fun. That was too easy," Dean grinned and pulled a knife from his leg sheath and tossed it towards the demon.

"Dean, you're a moron," the King of Hell growled. His weapon was taking unnecessary risks right now, but there wasn't much chance of stopping him without a causing a rift between them. The rift wouldn't help Crowley's goals, and honestly the risk wasn't that high.

Watching the two of them circle with their knives drawn may have been entertaining, but it wasn't how Crowley wanted to pass the evening. He'd found an excellent pool hall dive for Dean to shoot some pool. The hunter had complained a few days ago that he missed hustling pool. While he didn't need the money, Dean still enjoyed the challenge.

"Come on dude," Dean taunted the demon. "You have to at least try."

The fight became a little more intense, blocks and slashes, but it was the impact of hitting the ground that caused Dean to loose his blade.

"Dean-" Crowley had started to move, but before he had taken even a few steps the demon killing blade had flown back into Dean's hand and was plunged into the demon's side.

Well well well. It seemed Mr. Winchester had found yet another little perk of getting that Mark. Interesting.

"Whoa – did you see that?" Dean asked excitedly as he pushed the body off him.

"I did. Very good Dean; you managed to not die in a stupid fashion," Crowley was not pleased. Now that the danger was past, they needed to have a little talk.

"Come on, that was awesome!" Dean grinned. Such a child sometimes – and Crowley would never admit how attractive it made the hunter to grin with such joy.

"You should have killed them all. The ones that escaped are just going to get new vessels. That isn't helpful."

"Yeah, I had an idea about that. So, I figured after I pushed Cas away, that I might be able to do it with demons. But, I was wondering how to kill them in the smoke form. You think the knife might work?" Dean looked at the dirty blade in his hand and reached down to wipe it on the shirt of the dead vessel.

"Just kill them," Crowley wasn't comfortable talking about their smoke form. It wouldn't do to pass that kind of information to a hunter, regardless if said hunter was currently working for Crowley or not.

"I'm not going to kill vessels if I don't have to," Dean's voice hardened. Of course the hunter would take umbrage at harming a stupid vessel.

"That doesn't help me," Crowley knew the moment the words left his mouth it was the wrong thing to say. The balance of power with Dean was uneasy at the best of times. They were both aware that their agreement was more a mutually beneficial arrangement that was, in no way, permanent.

"Then uphold your part of the bargain and get the jaw," Dean snarled.

Crowley scowled; he waved his hand and three of his own lackeys showed up.

"Update on the item I sent you for?" Crowley demanded.

"The tracking spells are taking more time than usual, but we're closing in," the middle one wearing a pretty blond replied.

"I expected it to have been recovered by now. I'm disappointed boys," the King of Hell stared at the demons. They were some of his more useful minions; it would be a shame to waste them.

"This is your best?" Dean asked with obvious contempt in his voice. Crowley mentally rolled his eyes. The elder Winchester just never knew when to keep his gorgeous mouth shut.

"Oh, the King's pet speaks!" the shorter one laughed. Idiot.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Seriously?

Dean knew most of Crowley's demons were dumbasses, but this was… just beyond stupid. Dean was a hunter – he killed things like that demon for less than implying Crowley was Dean's master or some shit.

"Oh, how very well trained Crowley has you," the bitch in the middle walked right up to Dean.

He might have been able to let that pass. After all, Crowley was needed to get that damned jaw. Allowances could be made for…

The demon's hand reached around and grabbed Dean's ass.

"Wanna' find out what Crowley has me doing?" Dean grabbed the demon's wrist. "It involves a lot of grunting, fluids, and writhing."

"Yeah?" the demon asked as she stepped forward and pressed herself against Dean.

Dean twisted the wrist around and, in a clean move, swung the demon around pressing her back to Dean's front. As she tried to wriggle away, he twisted her arm up more to stop her.

Well, the arm thing and the blade he brought up to her throat. One of those stopped the demon cold.

"See, this is the grunting," Dean pulled further on the twisted arm causing the demon to grunt.

"And this is the fluid," Dean traced the blade along her cheek drawing blood.

"And this… This is the writhing," Dean used his mojo to twist the demon inside it's vessel. The demon twitched a few times and slowly fell to the floor having lost control of the body, but not yet allowed to escape.

"Now…" Dean said turning to Crowley.

"Uphold your part of the bargain and get the jaw. Don't make the mistake of thinking I'm here for you to order around. Remember? I can decline any order you give me – that was part of our deal."

Crowley looked at him and gave the barest of nods. Dean nodded back and looked down at the demon at his feet.

"You mind if I try something?" he asked.

"By all means," Crowley said graciously.

Dean concentrated and pushed the demon from the poor woman it had taken over. She was going to wake up with a hell of a black eye and sore as fuck, but at least she'd be waking up. The demon on the other hand…

As the cloud of smoke left the vessel's mouth, Dean cut through it with his demon blade. It crackled with arc of red energy before abruptly dissipating.

As one, the remaining demons turned to look at Crowley, clearly expecting Dean to be punished.

"I suggest you find the jaw bone boys. My pet isn't well trained," the King shrugged. They just stood there with identical looks of disbelief.

"Do you think they need more examples about what we go in private?" Dean nodded towards the remaining demons and grinned at the King of Hell. Crowley kinda' got Dean's sense of humor more than Sam or Cas, which was why he was positive Crowley would pick up the thread.

"I'd rather not kiss and tell love," Crowley made a shooing motion to the slack jaws demons; they didn't wait around.

"Well, that was interesting," Dean checked the pulse of the woman on the floor. She would be alright, but she wasn't going to be feeling great when she came around. He smoothed her skirt down modestly and positioned her limbs as carefully as possible.

"You know that little exchange is going to spread far and wide? I assure you – your status as my assassin concubine is now firmly established. I hope your boyfriend isn't the jealous type," Crowley poked around the gravestone the demons had been hiding around.

"I like to think I've sealed by status as a badass motherfucker that most certainly isn't the bottom in your imagined sex scenes with me," Dean chucked at Crowley's expression.

"Well, my pet – looks like you've been holding out. When did you learn about topping, hm?" Crowley scoffed as he stalked over to the hunter.

"Ya' know, here and there," Dean teased back. He was in an amazing mood. He'd confirmed two new powers, saved a woman, killed a demon, and got to open his Love up on the highway for the first time.

"We could always arrange a private tutorial if you want to learn a few new lessons," Crowley offered. Dean blinked. Wow – women were never this forward in his experience; at least they weren't without several drinks in them.

Not that Dean was interested in Crowley – because really if he was going to be into dudes, it wouldn't be a posh Brit that ruled hell. But on the other hand… It had been running through his head when he wasn't paying attention to his thoughts. The thought of possibly trying out something new really did appeal to his inner hedonist.

"Uhh…," Dean gave a nervous half laugh before clearing his throat. He was so going to regret this – seriously regret it. But sometimes you did things you knew you were going to regret because they were the most tempting. And Crowley was a demon…

Crowley raised an eyebrow without saying anything.

"What the hell," Dean shrugged a little and pushed Crowley against a tombstone.

It wouldn't be exactly accurate to say that Crowley looked surprised. It was more… pissed. Dean frowned – seriously? Asshole hits on him for ages and Dean finally gives a little and the dickwad is _pissed?!_

"Bollocks! Gormless plonker – I appear to be required at a cross road right bloody now," Crowley seethed. Dean nodded at the enraged demon.

"Yeah man – go," Dean said. No sooner had the words left his mouth, Crowley was gone.

Dean took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second.

What. The. Hell. It was like somebody upstairs was sending a message. Demons and sex – not a good idea.

Go figure. Maybe a beer and a cute little co-ed would fix him up. Yeah, that sounded like a damn fine plan. Or even better, a divorcee – she would know what's what and wouldn't be a giggling mess.

Walking to Love, Dean scratched his head as he thought about what almost happened. Had Crowley been using mojo or something? Because what had seemed like a good time just seemed like an incredibly bad idea now.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Sam waited.

This was most likely one of the most idiotic things he'd ever done. The demon standing in the middle of the crossroads in a rarely used fallow field looked like Sam was a cross between a lunatic and Lucifer himself. Of course, Lucifer was a bit of a lunatic, so there was that.

"Is he coming?" the hunter asked again.

"Vessel of Morning Star, I beg your patience. I have done exactly as you asked – I have no control over the actions of King Crowley," the small vessel of the demon was nervous. Sam was rather amused at that reaction. Sam didn't hear from Lucifer anymore, but this asshat was acting like he was carrying the seed of all evil in him at this moment.

"Right – but is he even coming? I have other things-" Sam stopped at the clap of thunder that shook the ground.

"You!" Crowley's finger may as well have been a gun the way the little cross roads demon began to shiver.

"Your Highness, I have-"

"Listen to me carefully you bleeding sod – If you can not figure out how to trade a wish for a soul, you can be reassigned."

"No Master," the demon begged.

"Seriously you maggot, give me one good reason I was called away from a rather frisky dish," Crowley straightened his suit and waited.

"Sam Winchester," was the only thing the demon gave as a reason and waved his hand towards the side of the road.

"Cor, two Winchesters in one night. I must have made someone either very happy for extremely angry," Crowley smirked at the younger hunter.

"I want to know what's going on with Dean," Sam started.

"That's it? I need better help it seems," Crowley looked at his lackey and frowned. "This isn't a good enough reason to call me. No soul, no sex, no first born, I fail to see why I was needed."

"Morning Star's vessel wanted to speak with you. He said his terms were for your ears alone," the note of hope in the demons voice was truly pathetic.

Crowley tilted his head a little while he looked at the hunter. He nodded as if reaching a decision and waved the lackey away.

"My ears alone – leave." Sam could almost feel the breath of relief as the demon disappeared.

"Tell me what's happening to Dean," Sam demanded the moment they were alone.

"Currently? I like to think he's jacking off, but in reality he's most likely drinking a rather plebian beer."

"That's disgusting," Sam didn't want to think about his brother's personal habits ever, but he really never wanted to hear about the King of Hell thinking about them. It was creepy as hell.

"Did he make a deal with you?" Sam kept his cool.

"Several as of late," Crowley winked. The fucker actually winked.

"Several? He's only got one soul-"

"Who said a soul is the only thing of value the Vessel of Michael has?"

Okay. Sam knew he was being baited; it was what Crowley did after all. Dean wasn't into that kind of stuff. On the other hand, what would Dean give up to do what he thought was the right thing? The answer was anything. Dean would do any and everything he could.

At least, that's what he had done for Sam.

"Stop deflecting and answer my question," the hunter tried again.

"I don't give anything away for free," Crowley looked at his nail and grinned. "You have something I might want?"

"I'm not selling you my soul!"

"I don't think Dean would be pleased with me taking it anyway – he is rather protective of what he thinks of as his, isn't he?" Crowley let the question sit in the air for a moment before he finished with the kill shot.

"Oh, I forgot – You tossed him away didn't you? So sad – when families break up,"

"We didn't break up – it was a fight," Sam repeated the thought that has been circling in his head for weeks. As if thinking it could make it real.

"Time's a wasting Samantha, try again."

"I just want to see Dean," Sam frowned. Jesus – this was the stupidest thing he'd ever done.

"And if I arrange a little get together, what do I get?"

"What do you want?" Sam had no idea what demon's thought of as valuable other than souls and power. And really, a soul was just more power, so…

"I find myself trying to be good, but… Well, it's not really my cup of tea." Crowley put a finger on his chin and began tapping.

"How about you owe me one?" he offered.

"No," Sam wanted to see his brother, but he hadn't become so desperate as to make an open ended deal.

"Of course not. Well, here's my problem – you have nothing I want," the King of Hell shrugged.

"Just tell me what's going on with Dean," Sam tried again.

"You really should just ask your brother," Crowley said.

Sam tried not to flinch. He knew it would come up, but still… hearing that a demon they Winchester's had hated and fought against knowing about all that shit was a blow to his pride.

"Oh dear, I forgot you aren't on speaking terms," the smirk on the demon's face was enough to make Sam want to smash the smug right off it.

"Shut up, and just answer the question."

"I don't see why Dean helping me is any of your business, Moose," the demon all but said _nah-nah-nah_ like a freaking toddler. Sam wondered if the man had been spoiled before becoming a demon, because he played the spoiled bitch perfectly.

"Why is Dean helping you?" Sam asked, picking up the slip from the King, who looked peeved at his loose tongue.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Human's were so easy to manipulate. It occurred to Crowley that Dean's disinterest and difficultly in being manipulated is what had drawn Crawley. The man was a challenge, a power in and of himself, and able to outwit not just demons, but angels as well.

Castiel was an idiot to have never acted on all that eye-fucking he and Dean had participated in. Crowley wasn't an idiot, and he wouldn't settle for eye-fucking.

"Business love – his, not yours. Unless you're looking for something? Never had brothers before," Crowley eyed Sam up and down. The man was captivating in the same way a train wreck was captivating. A display of pent up power than would, in the end, explode in a messy bit of broken bones and blood.

Crowley had his hands full enough without adding another Winchester to his juggling act; plus Dean was a more powerful ally and very unlikely to look favorably on any dealings with man.

"The two of you aren't involved – Dean isn't like that," Sam stated with complete conviction in his voice. Far be it for Crowley to out Dean's little kissing slip ups.

"Oh what you don't know about Dean Winchester right now could fill the Great Library before it burned."

"He's my brother," Sam replied not bothering to cover his simmering anger.

"Doesn't appear to be feeling that brotherly connection much lately," Crowley watched for the small facial tell the young man never learned to hide. It would have been an excellent poker face if only the runt could control his anger.

"Fuck you," Sam sneers. Crowley notes his little barb hit harder than he'd expected. Well, it's always best to twist the knife once you've stabbed someone.

"Seems to me Dean's moved on," the demon said with fake sympathy pouring over his words.

"You can't change the fact that we're family," Sam stopped when Crowley laughed. Was this pup really so stupid? Like God cast Cain out of His presence and gave him the strength to cast God off, you… Oh Samantha, did you really not know this stuff?"

Sam didn't move. Crowley decided to finish. Call it his cruel good deed for the century.

"When your father died, Dean became the head of the Winchester family. He's eldest, it just works that way so don't interrupt," Crowley rolled his eyes as Sam started to object to something. "As the head of your family-"

"He isn't the head of our family – we're brothers. Equals," Sam declared.

"Seriously? How amazingly stupid you humans are. You think family is about birth, but it's not. It's about survival and continuation of a linage. If one member isn't going to help get to that end, then he or she is easy replaced. A barren woman is caste aside. A weak child is given a lesser share of food or left in the woods. History is full of examples of exactly what family means. A marriage for power, for land. A joining of two people for the simple reason of power and influence," Crowley stopped to take a deep breath and looked at the hunter. He was fighting some kind of internal battle. It seemed a shame to let such a good battle go to waste. Crowley could help it along with a little petrol.

"You my naïve little Winchester have proven yourself of no value to the elder Winchester. He left you," the demon left it unsaid that Dean had replaced him with Crowley himself. Of course, it wasn't true, but it was beautiful watching the fury race across Sam's face.

"Shut the fuck up! We ARE brothers," Sam screamed. He was turning red and the demon wondered for a moment if the man was going to literally explode from his pent up anger issues.

Crowley had no idea what the actual fight was about, but he was gleeful at how easily Sam was to riled up. Of the two brothers, Dean was the more powerful and since he was at odds with this one… It was in Crowley's best interest to cement the illusion of his loyalty to Dean.

"I may be able to put a word in if you wanted to keep the name," Crowley pretended to offer as a concession.

"It's my name asshole. It can't be taken away," Sam said. The whelp seemed so damned certain – it was almost cute. Maybe Crowley could share his thoughts with Dean and show him this little exchange. Like a movie date.

Fuck – no thinking about Dean Winchester and dating. Demons didn't date. Kings of Hell doubly so.

"Ah contrare. The name and the family follows the eldest son. He is the head of your family. Too bad you've always been such a whiny brat to never show the proper respect due your elder," Crowley bullshitted like the professional he was. Why stick to the truth when you had an imagination?

The young hunter stuttered with rage.

It briefly occurs to Crowley that he could perphaps pull the story of the brothers fight from the incoherent hunter before him, but it could tip his hand that Dean wasn't up to confiding in the King of Hell. Not enough up side.

"Well, as fun as this hasn't been, I do have places to be, people to torture," Crowley waved a hand to indicate Sam must understand the trials of such a burden on your time.

"Unless, of course, you'd like to make a deal of some kind?" Unlikely, but sometimes the best deals were made in these types of unlikely situations.

"I just wish…" Sam said as he shook his head.

Now Crowley knew he could push this. The hunter was hurting and was open – vulenable. He was the perfect mark really. However, Crowley has a feeling the younger Winchester would ask for something that would affect Dean, and fulfilling that would damage the truce the two of them had built.

With a sigh the demon remembered how much more powerful Dean is, and thus useful. No deals would be made with Sam anytime soon.

"Be careful what you wish for Moose – I can tell you in my professional opinion that it rarely ends exactly as you expected."

Crowley left – there was only so much soppy pitiful Sam even a demon could take.

Lucifer dodged a bullet sharing a vessel with that one.

**S-S-S-S-S**

AN –

Constant vigilance? If you're lost on that reference, please take a few weeks and re-read the Harry Potter books ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_Love is suffering. One side always loves more. – _Catherine Deneuve

**S-S-S-S-S**

Sam slammed the door to the bunker. Damn it – Crowley hadn't given him a damned thing, and now he had more questions. None of this made sense.

Add to the Crowley crap, the ache in his gut from this morning was getting worse; he knew part of it was from stress and worry. Fucking Dean taking Sam seriously and walking away. Like Dean ever listened to a damned thing Sam said. See, this was why he and Dean just couldn't work.

Except they did. They did work, or they had. They'd worked together and lived together and grew up together and died for each other. And sure, Sam hated it when Dean made choices Sam didn't like; Cas had been dead on with that point. Dean's only real fault was that he loved Sam a little too much.

Dean had let Sam go to college, even though it left Dean with their drunken dad.

Dean traded his soul for Sam's life never once caring how Sam would react. And Sam had carried around a ton of anger over that. What kind of asshole brings you back from the dead only to tell you that your only family, your rock, was going to die now? Not just die, but die _instead_ of you.

What the hell kind of thing was that supposed to be? Dean said it was because of the two of them, Sam was the one who had a chance to have a normal life. A good life.

Sam had kicked his brother to the curb because Sam was a spoiled asshole. And now, with all the skills Dean had learned over a hard life, he was avoiding Sam. No, that wasn't even right. Dean wasn't avoiding him – you had to care about somebody to avoid them.

Dean didn't even care enough to avoid. He just made it clear Sam may as well be dead.

And that hurt more than if Dean had yelled that he hated Sam. That he thought Sam was weak because he'd let himself get addicted to Ruby's blood. It hurt more than the day he'd watched Dean die.

This was…

Sam stood up and ran to the bathroom, but he didn't make it. The lunch he'd eaten spilled all over the floor and kept coming until Sam was heaving nothing but bile.

Catching his breath for a moment, it occurred to Sam that he'd have to clean this mess up. Something that normal people did when they were ill, but Dean had always taken care of this stuff. He did it without even so much as a thank you, but because in his mind that was how you treated the ones you loved.

Dean cleaned the sick off the floor.

Dean cooked chicken and stars soup in whatever shitty kitchen they had at the moment and added saltines that had been crushed into tiny bits.

Dean drew baths for Sam to sit in and lower his temperature.

Dean hustled pool to get money for Sam's medicine.

Dean did things that Sam never knew the exact details about to get money for doctor's visits.

Dean brought him stupid water bottles with the squirt tops, because they were easier to drink when you were in bed.

Dean remembered when to give Sam meds until they were gone, exactly like the doctor ordered.

Dean made sure Sam had a puke bucket next to the bed in case he couldn't make it.

And Sam…

Sam bitched about helping take the trash out because it smelled.

Sam crowed about how he was leaving this shitty life to live in sunny California.

Sam never called Dean to check on him.

Sam can't remember once helping Dean when he was sick. Just leaving his brother alone in the motel room and spending the day reading in the library and enjoying a day off from hunting.

Sam decided to sell his old laptop for fifty bucks instead of giving it to Dean after Dean bought a new one for Sam's birthday. In fact, Sam realized Dean had never had a computer of his own. Sam had a new one every few years.

Sam got the new shoes and complained they were cheap when Dean was patching his up with duct tape claiming the tape helped with keeping blood off his socks. It didn't.

Sam mocked Dean for never having a single real relationship, but Dean did have one. Dean was his keeper, his brother, his father, and his best friend.

Fuck.

This whole damned thing was completely Sam's fault. He didn't like what Dean did – true. But he also remembered how annoyed he'd gotten when Jessica let food dry on the plates – it was his job to scrape it off because the sound was like nails on a chalk board to her.

In fact, he remembered giving a friend some advice about dealing with things like that – just picture your life without the annoyance.

You might hate a part of somebody's personality, but if they died tomorrow… If they died, every time you saw a wet towel on the floor, you'd feel it like a kick in the gut that you missed their mildewy towels. When you smelled their favorite food that made the house smell like crap, you'd break down in tears knowing your house was never going to have that funk again.

You'd give anything to have a messy bathroom, smelly house, and shoes kicked off next to the bed instead of put in the closet just a few feet away.

After the fire, Sam found himself leaving plates out just so he could be closer Jess in some weird way. Like a tribute to her annoying habits that he missed and would have done damned near anything to be annoyed by just one more time.

And now… Here Sam sat, wondering if anybody would ever call him a bitch again.

Would anybody poke fun at his admittedly floral shampoos?

Would he ever have to listen to nonstop classic rock just because he was shotgun and had to shut his piehole?

Would he ever have an entire conversation with just a single look across a pool table?

Would he ever have to sit in the car because there was 'company' in the motel room?

He barely made it to the toilet this time. Damn it – he was making himself sick. This was why Dean refused to have touchy feely moments and repressed everything. Because Dean had his shit figured out and while it wasn't the way Sam did it, Dean had been happy.

Dean had been happy traveling around killing things and saving people. He'd felt rewarded on a personal level saving the world. He loved his life, his brother, and his car. It was simple. Maybe it was because he knew what was important.

Maybe Sam should have learned some of those lessons.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Cas appeared next to Dean the moment he finished the prayer. The hunter looked mostly the same as he had the last time they had spoken, but there was a certain restlessness that hung around him. Of all the moods Dean had, this was the most confusing for Castiel. The concept of boredom was something angels simply could not understand.

"Hello Dean," Cas greeted his friend.

"Hey man. Wanna' go hunting with me? Just some haunting at the local museum, but since I'm here…," Dean rubbed the back of his neck. Cas had learned to catalog many of Dean's facial expressions and body language to help him understand what his human meant when he refused to actually say anything.

Right now, Dean wanted to hunt, but more importantly he wanted some contact with somebody he trusted. The rubbing of his neck was a tic that usually meant he was afraid he would be rejected. It was odd; Cas could not remember the last time he had rejected Dean since getting his Grace back.

Well, some Grace.

"Of course," the angel nodded.

"Cool – you can never be too safe, ya' know? Backup is always good," Dean babbled as he walked to the back of the car and popped the trunk.

On reflection, Cas thought it a bit overkill to have him assist on this hunt which ended up being a simple salt and burn of a lock of hair in a display case. The ghost had not even showed up. It was rather dull, but if Dean felt the need to have backup…

Well, the least Castiel could do was be there for his friend.

"Hey – you don't have to leave," Dean said quickly as he stored the gear in the truck.

"Of course," Cas agreed. There was something off with his hunter. Judging from the way Dean kept looking at Cas and looking away, the angel was fairly sure Dean had something to say.

He also knew he would just have to wait for the green eyed man without rushing him. Rushing would only push him away, and he would never open up.

See? Cas had learned a lot about humanity. His social skills were not quite so rusty anymore.

"Hop in Cas – I wanna' show you something," Dean climbed in the shiny new car.

"This is a very nice vehicle," Cas offered as they drove away. He knew Dean was fond of his Baby; it was probable he held the new car in some esteem.

"Yeah, Crowley's an ass, but he let me pick out anything I wanted," Dean said off-handedly as he drove through the streets making turns like he knew where they were headed.

"Crowley? The demon gave you a car?" Cas asked, a thread of suspicion working its way through him.

"Yep," his human sounded pleased.

"What did you have to do?" the angel demanded. Surely not…

"Why do you assume I had to do anything?" Dean asked defensively.

"King of the Crossroads does not give things away Dean. What are you doing with him?" It was the question that all of Heaven had been speculating about.

"Look, just…" Dean took a deep breath before finishing his thought. "Look, I can explain, okay?"

"I have heard that one before Dean," Cas frowned. It was the one flaw of free will; humans made the same mistakes over and over.

"I didn't sell my soul – just my services," the hunter sped through the turns on a small back road.

"What kind of services?" That hardly sounded any better to the angel's ears.

"Fighting. He wants me to kill Abaddon. Since I already wanted that, it seemed like a win-win." Dean offered a small grin.

"So you are killing Abaddon in return for a car? That does not sound like a good deal Dean…"

"Not exactly," Dean hedged.

"What exactly then?" Cas pressed.

"I asked him to keep me off the grid, give me the resources I needed, and a place to stay. Also, he has his stupid demons searching for the jawbone I need to kill the bitch," Dean said with a sigh.

"You did it. You made it impossible for me to find you unless you called to me," Cas paused as he tried to figure out how he felt. One the one hand, he understood Dean had been hurting, but on the other, they had been through both hell and purgatory together.

If there was anybody Dean should know he could trust, it should have been Castiel. After everything Cas had given up and done for the hunter…

"I'm not gunna' get into this without a beer. Inside?" Dean asked.

"And then you will 'get into' this?"

"Yeah man – I got some stuff to talk about anyway. Shit this sucks," Dean grumbled as he walked into the old farm house they had pulled up to while Cas had been distracted with Dean's admissions.

It was clear Dean had been staying here. There were bottles on the coffee table, but the kitchen was spotless. The man was just a series of contradictions.

"Okay – long story short…" Dean trailed off. He stared off into the bottle of beer he'd popped open without saying anything for several long moments.

"I made the first deal to kill the bitch in return for hiding me and getting me what I needed to do the job. No souls. The second deal was the car in exchange for helping collect a soul for a contract that had expired. Don't look at me like that – the dude got what he wanted and he was trying to get out of paying," Dean frowned.

"I was not looking at you in any way. I believe that would be your guilty conscious at work," Cas frowned.

"Anyway, the thing is – Okay. Hold on," Dean stood up and started pacing. "Crowley kissed me."

"Of course he did. It is the traditional way that Crossroad deals are sealed," Cas was trying to follow Dean's train of thought, but it really did not make much sense.

"He keeps hitting on me," Dean confessed.

"He has been propositioning you sexually?" Cas asked. His heart started racing; the idea of Dean and Crowley involved in any way was disturbing, but the thought of them involved in a relationship of any kind…

"Yeah, I guess," Dean shrugged.

"I am not sure why you are telling me this. If you are looking for a confessional, I do not think I am the best angel for that right now," Cas really wanted to leave. He felt uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation. Listening to his hunter talk about his new demon lover was not something he wanted to participate in.

"What? No. Cas, he keeps saying stuff, and I keep wondering about some of the stuff, but not with him," was the less than clear response. "Ya' know?"

"I understood every word, but not what you meant when you put them together like that," the angel knew he was now officially out of his depth. The brief time he had spent as a human had in no way prepared him for this conversation.

"Dude – shit!" Dean leaned over and looked Cas in the eye before continuing. "Can I ask you for a favor?"

"Of course. What is it?" Cas answered without having to think about his answer. He would do anything for his hunter.

"Ya' know what? Never mind. This is a stupid idea," Dean ran his hand through his hand in frustration.

"Dean, whatever you need, if it is within my ability, I will provide for you. Always." At least this was simple. Help Dean.

"Okay… I want to kiss you," Dean said and watched Cas carefully.

The air felt like it had escaped from Castiel's chest. He had once or twice thought about his hunter in romantic terms, but he had also known Dean would not be able to reciprocate those feelings. And now…

"What?" Cas managed. He winced in the privacy of his own mind at how weak his single word sounded.

"I want to kiss you. Or you can kiss me. Either way," Dean shrugged. "Not really too picky on that part."

"Oh. May I ask why?" He felt that was a reasonable question all things considered. Plus, it had the added benefit of stalling for time while Castiel tried to get his breathing under control. His heart was racing so fast; he doubted he would be able to slow it down.

"Because I just wanna' know – shit. You're a dude and I just want to know if I like kissing all dudes or just-," Dean stopped as Cas held his hand up in the universal signal to stop.

"You enjoyed kissing the demon." There really was not much point in asking if it was true. The flush on Dean's cheeks was enough. His hunter took pleasure with a demon pressing against him. Cas felt his eyes begin to sting.

"Son of a bitch…" Dean trailed off as he slid across the sofa and pulled Cas into an awkward hug.

"I do not understand why you wish to kiss me if you liked-," the angel didn't finish his sentence. The mere thought was too profane to verbalize.

"I didn't like it. I mean, it was okay, but… It wasn't awful, but I couldn't stop thinking that if any dude was going to kiss me, it should at least be somebody I liked," the words spilled out of the hunter's mouth.

"I still do not –"

"Not just anybody. You." Dean said quietly while looking at the floor.

"Me?"

Castiel took a moment to consider. He knew he had an interest in Dean Winchester, and it appeared that Dean had a passing thought about it as well. And the idea that Dean would choose Cas over the King of Hell was very appealing.

At that moment, it became important for Cas to do it. It was a noble and selfless act to wipe the memory of Crowley from his hunter's mind. From his lips.

Taking a deep breath, Cas reached out and pulled Dean's chin up. Their eyes met – one with fear of rejection, and one with hopeful excitement.

**S-S-S-S-S**

He was insane. They both were.

That was the only reasonable explanation Dean could come up with as he stared at Cas' mouth. He knew the angel had finally lost his V card, but he was hardly experienced. Why the angel would agree to this was a little beyond Dean, but he was damned glad.

And just like that, their lips met.

Whereas kissing Crowley had been fury and aggression, Cas was… He was warm honey. Sweet and slow – something that he knew would have him licking his lips for hours after his last taste just to try and find a little bit of mouthwatering temptation.

Sighing, Dean opened his mouth and licked the seam of Cas' lips. The angel opened to him like a flower opening to the sun – fresh and so purely perfect. The moment their tongues slid together they started a dance, and it might have been Dean who groaned first; it ended with them both reaching for the other to clutch in a tight embrace.

Having never been with a man, Dean wasn't sure he was expecting, but the complete submission of his angel was not high on the list. And he was man enough to admit he had been wondering for the past few weeks what might happen.

Cas broke the kiss with a gasp, and gave Dean a bleary smile.

"I very much enjoyed that," said the master of understatement.

"Come here," Dean pulled Cas into his lap. A few moments of positioning the angel, and they were chest to chest, arms wrapped around each other.

Without wasting another moment, Dean reached up and grabbed the back of Cas' neck and brought him down for another kiss. A kiss? More like a plundering of the angel's mouth. As innocent as Cas had started their first kiss, Dean dominated this one. It felt like he was trying his level best to pour every filthy private fantasy he'd ever had into it as his tongue mapped out Cas' mouth.

Dean grabbed the angel's hips and pulled them flush together. The angel's moan of either surprise or pleasure was quickly lost as Dean's mouth started kissing from Cas' mouth, down his jaw, only to latch onto the soft skin at the base of his neck.

"Fuck." Turned out, Cas wasn't quite as innocent as Dean had expected. The Soldier of the Lord let slip a single cuss word that seemed to send a sizzling jolt down the hunter's spine if the full body tremble was anything to go by.

"Fuck indeed," came the clipped words from across the room. Dean looked up and locked eyes with a furious Crowley.

Cas turned from his position in Dean's lap and wondered if smiting the King of Hell so one could continue to explore the pleasures of the flesh would be considered a plus or minus.

**S-S-S-S-S**

The very last thing Crowley expected to walk in on was that bloody twink angel sitting in Winchester's lap making out like a damned teenager.

Bollocks.

"Castiel, how have you been doing kitten? Find your claws?" he smirked. It was amazing the amount of anger that his sarcasm could mask.

"Why are you here Crowley?" Dean asked, as he moved his lap full of holy feathers to the side.

"Business." That was enough information for the hunter. He wasn't spilling his plans in front of some angel with multi-personality disorder. One day an angel, then a mortal, then a God, then a gas station clerk, then a thief.

"I was a little busy if you didn't-," Dean started to dismiss the demon. It was at that point Crowley went from merely angry to actually seeing red.

His control was slipping more and more every day. Damn it – the blood in his veins kept his humanity firmly attached. Crowley had not been a very good person in life, and one of his many and varied flaws was raging jealousy and possessiveness.

"Key word: 'was', as in past tense, _darling_. Now you're not and I require your services," Crowley pretended to dust his jacket off as if this were just another day in the life of an evil overlord.

"And I can decline any requests, remember?" Fucking snarky bastard.

"Then maybe I shouldn't have turned down the other Winchester I spoke with tonight. He had the most interesting things to say and offer…" Another one of Crowley's skills as a human had been his ability to stick the knife right where it could do the most damage.

"Crowley…" Dean's voice held a solid threat. This was a dangerous game.

"After all, _there's _a lad who knows what demons can do when they set their minds to it. No morals or… Well, let's just call them restrictions that angels tend to have," he couldn't stop the dig at Castiel.

"No one would ever accuse you of having morals," the angel said in his flat voice.

"Thank you. Anyway, I believe Moose might have had a better offer anyway. One hunter is the same as the other – I'll contact you when the jaw is recovered," Crowley hated betting when he actually cared about the stakes, but Dean Winchester was getting out of hand. Regardless of the man's protestations, he knew the hunter wouldn't knowingly send Crowley to Sam.

He hoped.

"He won't help you, man," Dean spit out, his jaw tightening.

"You know how convincing I can be. Besides, I'm curious if what they say about brothers is true," Crowley faked a convincing thoughtful face.

"What do they say about brothers Dean?"

"He's adorable, really. Does he roll on his back and let you scratch his belly as well?" Crowley taunted.

"Fuck off Crowley," the green eyes vixen tossed out without much venom.

"Well, as lovely as this has been, I do have an assignment for you Dean. Decline if you wish, though don't make the mistake of thinking you're my only resource," Crowley sneered. It was true though – there were other contracts he could pull to add an extension for services to take out Abaddon's minions. They weren't Winchesters, however.

"Yeah, I get it. Cas? I'll see you later, ok?" Dean was pushing lightly on the angels hips to dislodge him.

Fucking finally.

"I am not comfortable leaving you here with an angry demon," the angel replied. Aw, how nauseatingly adorable.

"I promise not to break your toy, Castiel," Crowley gave his best innocent face, which in reality wasn't so much innocent as almost Eddie Haskell in its insincerity. "Unless he wants me to of course."

"He's not going to hurt me Cas – I'm way too valuable at this point, right Fergus?" Dean could dish it as well as he took it. Honestly, it was one of the things Crowley liked most about this human.

Only, not right now.

Crowley rolled his eyes. It positively infuriated him that Dean not only knew his value to Crowley, but would flaunt it so openly. Did the boy have zero survival instincts? Right now, Hell thought the hunter was a toy, a dangerous toy that maybe had a few powers compliments of a deal, but a toy none the less.

"Very well. Dean, please contact me when you have a free moment," and with that the angel was gone.

When Dean turned and looked expectedly at Crowley, the demon did his job and kept the well-rehearsed blasé mask of indifference in place, but inside… Inside, he was roiling with conflicting thoughts and, Lucifer forbid, emotions.

Ever since the bloody Winchester brothers had tried to save his soul, he'd been dealing with lingering wisps of humanity. Sometimes it would be a simple smell and he would be in his mother's kitchen as she cooked a nice dinner and talked to her son about his day. Other times the feelings of a man longing for affection would surface briefly.

It was smegging annoying.

At the moment, he was looking at the hunter and wanted nothing more than to yell like an angry fish wife and accuse him of cheating. Cheating _on what_, was undefined in this stupid intrusive thought, but Crowley couldn't clear it from his mind.

"So, murder, mayhem, or both?" Dean asked with a casual smile. Like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't had a lap full of fucking angelic ass in his lap five fucking minutes ago.

"Why?" Crowley asked, ignoring the attempt at levity.

"Dude, I'm not getting into this. I was curious, and that's all I'm saying. Got it?" Dean walked over to the closet and grabbed a jacket. "We going or what?"

Crowley nodded. Stupid. The answer didn't answer a single question and actually raised even more. Damn it.

"Before we leave, I need to tell you – Moose summoned me. Asking all kinds of personal questions about you, he was. Some about you and I. It was almost touching, if one went for that sort of thing," Crowley said.

"And you told him what?"

"That it was business. Yours, not his – and it is positively amusing how much he disliked that answer. Seems he's under the impression you are still brothers," Crowley baited the man.

"Whatever. So, what do you need me to do?" Dean asked as he grabbed his favorite gun from the table and slipped it in the ankle holster he'd taken to wearing.

"There's a little get together of a few key players in Abaddon's plans tonight. I thought you might be able to express how hurt our feelings got at not receiving an invitation," suggested the King of Hell.

"I can do that," the hunter replied with a grin.

"I thought you might flex some of your newly found skills. No point in pretending you're just a regular hunter anymore – you really shouldn't have let those two demons escape."

"My powers, my call. So, how many?" Dean asked walking outside towards the blasted car.

"Upwards of ten at last estimate. Do you need support? I can get a few of my boys and maybe a hell hound or two if you need?" he thought it unlikely to be taken up on the offer. If Dean was anything, it was not a team player if the team consisted of demons.

"Nah, I got it. I got a new plan that I can't wait to test out," and even though Dean smirked, Crowley felt a tingle of fear creep through him. Just another left over thread of humanity that made being a demon difficult. Of course, he did have reason to fear Dean's newly found Mark powers.

"Excellent," Crowley faked his approval.

"So, I was thinking we might – Dude, you ok?" Dean asked as Crowley let out a small growl of frustration.

"I'm bloody well getting summoned again, only this time it's a moronic crossroads demon that can't do his damned job!"

Here's the thing – People think power is good to have. They see the upside of getting what you want when you want and never having to explain yourself to somebody. What they don't see is all the work that goes along with that power.

Crowley was responsible for directing the demons in everything from daily accounts, quarterly goals, containing the souls, regular tours of the torture chambers, and reading reports on efficiency and dynamics. Whatever dynamics was, Crowley was fairly positive Hell had invented it; it drove him to near homicidal rage whenever he tried to slug through reports.

And this… Demons that were new, or stupid, or stupid and new tended to summon him personally for all sorts of problems. It was like he was their dedicated tech support help line. He'd tried to set up a system for dealing with these issues, but demons were, against all expectations, traditionalist.

"I have to make a pit stop. Seems one of my new crossroads demons is having a little issue of lacking common sense and competency," Crowley replied. It might be time to bring back a program of torture for idiocy. Survival of the fittest and all that.

"I'll wait here till you're done," Dean said.

"I think not. I'd rather not come back to find you and you feathered boyfriend getting freaky," Crowley knew his jealousy was bleeding through, but… It was that fucking humanity crap again. He couldn't just purge it from his system, and it popped up when he really needed to keep it away.

"You're an idiot. Cas isn't my boyfriend," Dean rolled his eyes and finished getting a few supplies from the trunk before shutting it.

"You give it up without even a class ring or a letterman jacket? Interesting. When we have more time, I'd like to explore that a little," Crowley managed to convincingly leer while replaying the conversation and cheering that Cas and Dean were not an item.

This was divine punishment – the fact that he was the powerful King of Hell, and he felt like a young lad with his first crush.

Pathetic.

**S-S-S-S-S**

AN:

Eddie Haskell – _Leave it to Beaver_ (1957-1963) character that was all polite to parents and a menace to society underneath.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_Truth is everybody is going to hurt you: you just gotta' find the ones worth suffering for. – _Bob Marley

**S-S-S-S-S**

They stood at the cross roads of a newly laid out subdivision in the middle of a chilly overcast night. Dean wasn't entirely sure who the demon that turned to Crowley was – he looked nervous though. Dean didn't go in much for subtlety, but even he knew to not show weakness in a situation like this.

"What's the problem this time you wretch?" Crowley growled. "This is really getting to be a habit – I have other things to do aside from hold your hand."

"This guy wants to trade his soul for healing his brother," he stuttered. "Can we do that?"

"Hounds in Hell you're a bloody idiot. Of course we can," the King of Hell rolled his eyes.

"Wait, what?" Dean couldn't help but interrupt. "Dude, you can't sell your soul. What about praying?"

"I prayed. My family and friends and everybody prayed. I've spent more time on my knees in church begging and pleading for nothing. He's my brother –," the kid said as if that explained everything. Dean took a moment to really look at the young man. There were deep purple bruises under his red rimmed eyes. The hair was a few weeks past needing a haircut, and it was clear he hadn't been eating well. The shirt all but hung off his frame, and the belt used to keep the pants up had clearly been taken in a couple of holes if the still bent leather meant anything.

In a past life, Dean would have understood this young man. In that past life, Dean had done this exact thing and sold his own soul for his brother. Now… Well, Dean didn't have a brother. So, there was that –

"Still – you can't just throw your life away like this," the helplessness Dean felt came through in his voice. This kid was him; this was his life not too long ago.

"Look man, I know you're trying to help and all," the kid started.

"CAS!" Dean yelled. No, he couldn't let another good soul be sold into the pits of Hell. No.

"Dean," Cas said appearing at Dean's shoulder. It was stupid how reassuring that voice felt.

"Join the bloody party Sparkles," Crowley grunted as he waved his hand in a get on with it motion. Dean saw the opening the King of Hell was offering. He was allowing Dean to derail this deal if he could in front of his demon underling. Again, the King of Hell was building Dean up in the eyes of the rank and file of Hell.

Interesting. It would be even more interesting to figure out exactly why Crowley felt he needed to do so.

"This kid's brother needs help; he's sick or something," Dean said pointing to the slack jawed boy. Granted, Cas had just shown up out of nowhere, but the kid was acting like he'd never expected angels to be real. He'd just fucking summoned a damned cross roads demon and an _angel_ surprised him?

"I understand," Cas nodded, and Dean felt relieved. His angel would help – nobody would have to repeat the torture that Castiel, Angel of the Lord, had saved Dean from.

"Sod off Feathers," Crowley snarked. The hunter frowned at the demon and wondered briefly if putting the two of them in the same proximity had been a good idea. Crowley did just interrupt something between the old friends and looked less than thrilled with it.

"No need for vulgarity Crowley," the angel said. "There is nothing I can do, unfortunately. This is out of my hands."

"Told you," the kid sighed as Dean turned to his angel.

"Seriously? Just that easy? Nope, can't do anything, and fly away?" he was hurt and shocked. Cas knew firsthand what would be awaiting this young man, this kid.

"Dean, there are limits to my powers. This is beyond the scope of what I am able to accomplish."

"Bullshit. You fix me and Sa- You fixed us all the time!" Dean knew he was spiraling out of control. It all hit so fucking close to home.

"Dean, calm down," Cas reached out to place a reassuring hand on Dean's arm. Without blinking, Dean felt his face close down and the buzzing that he'd been ignoring since this little shit-fest started grew in volume.

"Enough," Dean all but screamed and waved his hand as if to knock an annoying gnat away. It wasn't a gnat, but an angel that got knocked. Cas landed several feet away looking shocked.

"If you can't help me, you're useless right now." Dean raised an eyebrow at the slack jawed angel.

The silence in the middle of this God-forsaken road was overwhelming until Crowley shook the quiet off with a half snort.

"Perfectly entertaining though this little drama is, I will accept your offer. Your soul due in ten years for your brother's fully recovered health," the King of Hell spelled the terms out.

"Yeah," the boy said with a nod.

"And you know how to seal the deal?" Crowley all but grinned while looking right at Dean. Fucker.

"Um, a handshake?" he asked hopefully.

"A kiss. Come on, let's get it over with. You aren't my type anyway, so no need to draw it out," Crowley barely got the words out before the kid launched himself at Crowley and smashed their lips together like he was afraid the demon would take it all back.

"Done." Crowley wrinkled his nose and reached in his pocket for a handkerchief

"Wait!" Dean yelled. His head felt fuzzy and too full with rage at the injustice of it all. Humans always got the shit end of the stick dealing with Heaven and Hell. Dean was fucking sick of his race being put in the middle of petty wars and deals and fickle attentions.

"Wait. Okay, so I want a deal." His voice surprised Crowley almost as much as it shocked Dean himself. Crap, another deal meant another kiss, at least. Dean just couldn't stop leaping into this stuff.

"Dean, this is not necessary," Cas spoke up.

"You had your chance Cas," Dean didn't even glance away from Crowley as he spoke to his angel. "Crowley, you to give the kid his soul back, keep his brother healthy, and... what do you want?"

"I can't for the life of me think of anything right now. What did you have in mind?"

"A couple of vetos on my vetos?" the hunter offered.

"I think not," Crowley answered. Fuck, what the hell could Dean offer – it wasn't like the demon had many weaknesses.

"I'll tell you what happened with Sam," the name even felt bitter coming from his lips.

"That's kind of you love, but not worth a whole soul," the King of Hell was enjoying this entirely too much.

"Fine, you can name your price." Okay, Dean needed to find out if he needed to register as an official dumbass somewhere. What the fuck was he thinking?

Dean's insides felt a little sick. Crowley was going to want to… Oh God. But it was still easier than letting this boy loose his soul because he cared about his brother. But it served a couple of purposes for Dean. He could use this to lower himself in Crowley's eyes; it wouldn't do for the demon to feel threatened by Dean. Aside from saving a soul, it also put Cas on notice that he wasn't the only one Dean could deal with.

"No Dean," Cas pleaded with his quiet deep voice. "Don't do this. You know what he's going to want-"

"That is an extremely generous offer Dean," Crowley smirked and leaned in to place a small kiss on Dean's lips. "Kid, your brother's right as rain – run along now."

The boy didn't need to be told twice; he ran without looking back, but his eyes caught Dean's before he took off. It didn't take a genius to see the silent thank you in them.

"Well boys, I believe Dean and I have a deal to seal – I think for the sake of my dear hunter's reputation we will retire to a private place to work out the details," Crowley stepped next to Dean and placed a hand at the small of his back. God, it was so unfair it felt warm and reassuring. He was almost positive Crowley wouldn't hurt him, but he also knew this was going to be… unpleasant.

Not that Dean had ever thought about getting his butt cherry popped, but he damned well had never thought it would be the King of Hell in exchange for a stranger's soul to help a sick brother. Gah – Dean was a sap. A huge freaking girl.

Cas. Cas was glaring at Dean like this was all his fault. The kid, the soul, the brother, the demons, and maybe even the color of the sky. That was going to be a nasty little mess to clean up later. But Cas and Dean weren't really anything. One kiss didn't make them exclusive or in a relationship or anything.

"Come along love," Crowley pulled Dean closer. With a last smirk at Cas, Crowley took them back to the farm house.

The familiar surroundings should have been a comfort, but instead they added to the jumpiness coursing through him. Dean had panicked when he told Crowley to name his price. Looking at that kid with the earnest love for his brother… Dean knew to stop and think these things out.

"So… About those terms," Dean licked his lips and wondered if there was any way out it. Like maybe he could claim temporarily insanity?

"Yes – about those terms," Crowley moved in closer. Their mouths were a few inches away when the demon spoke again.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Cain sat back and frowned.

It was dull being immortal. He remembered everything he'd ever seen, said, or done – there was nothing new left in the world for him to experience. And then one day, he'd been tending his bees, and everything changed.

It was like a fresh breeze on a hot summer day when you hadn't even realized you where suffocating with the overwhelming heat. Not just a breeze, but a tornado. Reckless and violent in his awe inspiring beauty.

Dean Winchester. And his brother Sam of course.

The exact image of the first brothers. Cain and Able. It had been like looking at a living version of himself from this new time.

Cain had sold his soul to save his brother; so had Dean.

Cain's brother had become mixed up with demons; so had Dean's.

Cain had been marked by Hell for his trouble; Dean had been marked for being saved from Hell.

Cain had trained and led his fellow Knights; Dean trained and led his hunters.

Both had caused havoc wherever they walked.

Only…

Only Dean had taken a different path since receiving the Mark. That cursed Mark from God as punishment for the first murder. Dean Winchester was not, as of yet, giving in to the visions of death and blood that Cain knew had to be plaguing the hunter.

It was part of the curse – to murder your brother in cold blood and know you would never be forgiven.

It was a choice Cain had made with full knowledge of his actions, but the brash Winchester had simply taken the mark without caring for his personal cost in order to stop the bitch Cain had been unsuccessful in killing.

Cain found he rather liked Dean Winchester and even envied a few of his choices. Not his choice in companions obviously; Crowley was a lecherous bastard.

So, it seemed after millenniums of existing, Cain had found a hobby.

Dean Winchester watching was extremely entertaining.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Dean leaned in and placed a quick kiss on Crowley's lips before the demon even had a chance to remind Dean they needed to seal the deal. And the stab of regret that the kiss was so brief and chaste was quickly pushed to the side. Crowley had business to conduct after all.

"As tempting as your delightful body is, I want to know what happened between you and your boyfriend and a bit of blood," Crowley sat at the kitchen table and waited for Dean to answer his question.

He knew he was wasting a chance to nail the hunter, but this was for the long term planning. If the angel was seriously going to become an issue, it should be dealt with sooner rather than later.

Also, Crowley's stomach still churned every time the image of Dean and that angel kissing popped in his head.

"Why?" Dean challenged. Of course he did, because Dean Winchester couldn't do one bloody thing without fighting.

"Because its dealer's choice and I'm the dealer," the demon said and placed his hands in a studied relaxed pose on the table, fingers interlaced.

"Wait, you want to know about Cas, but not Sam? I thought for sure…," the hunter trailed off as he chased his thoughts around in his head.

This was one of those times Crowley would allow Dean to draw his own conclusions, because the truth was mildly disturbing to the demon. He wanted to know about the angel and hunter because it could interfere with his plans, true. But that wasn't all of it.

Also, it was rather interesting that the hunter didn't even blink twice at the request for blood. Figures all the focus would be on the feathered freak.

Crowley had to admit he was jealous as bloody hell. The sodding angel had been in Dean's lap, with the hunter's hands wrapped possessively around him. Crowley had to bargain for stupid kisses – and while he wasn't too far gone to understand why Dean would prefer the angel, it still hurt.

That hurt? That was the damned problem. This stupid humanity that still swirled around in his head – it was going to possibly going to be his downfall unless he got control of it. As time passed, the craving for just a taste of human blood proved more and more impossible to resist. Fucking Winchesters turning him into a junkie.

"How is Cas worth the release of a soul, but not Sam?"

"Why should I value the soul of a man you won't even call brother? Sam wouldn't be enough to trade for the soul of that kid," the demon shrugged. He could have asked for information about the split between the brothers, but his jealous little heart had spoken before he could fully think of the pros and cons.

Damn it. Dealing with emotions was worse than torture in the pit.

And Crowley felt he was in a unique position to actually know what he was talking about.

"Fine. Cas is Cas," Dean said with a shrug.

Crowley rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply. This was going to be like pulling teeth; only not in the good way.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Dean looked at the frustrated demon in front of him with a smug grin. It was so fucking fun to pull the asshole's chain.

"You are an idiot. Answer or I'll consider it your admission you have no intention of fulfilling the deal," Crowley's face was turning slightly ruddy with his eyes glazed. It occurred to Dean that the demon wasn't quite right.

"Jesus you're a fucking baby. Fine. Cas saved me from Hell, and we have a 'profound bond'," Dean rolled his eyes as he actually used the stupid air quotes.

"Go on," the British demon was such a prick. He waved his hands in that keep going motion while rolling his eyes. Dean wondered if kicking the demon in the balls would break the deal.

"You made a good point about the whole hedonistic thing. Anyway, I thought I'd try it with Cas. That good enough? I swear we aren't going steady if you're thinking of asking him out," Winchester's mouth would write a check one day that his ass couldn't cash.

Crowley pulled an old fashioned syringe out of his coat pocket and motioned for Dean to hand his arm over. The answer about the blue eyed feathered fucker was less than complete, but it was enough. Now he needed some blood before he started losing it.

Well, losing it more.

"Blood? What the hell you need it for?" the hunter asked as he offered his arm over.

"You and your Moose made me a blasted junkie. Ever since you tried to save my soul, I've been like this – and it's your fault!" Crowley snarled as he pulled the plunger back, filling the tube with bright red blood.

"You are one fucked up dude," Dean said as the King of Hell shot up with the hunter's blood.

"What can I say? King of Hell here," he smirked. Drinking blood wasn't even the beginning of the depraved things he'd partaken in.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Sam tossed the thick book on the table with an echoing thud. He hadn't been able to find jack shit that might be of any help to Castiel. There was nothing on Cain and Able outside of the well-known biblical story and other than a brief mention in the bible, the Mark of Cain wasn't mentioned again until several hundred years later.

Crazy cults had used it as a symbol, but the mark they'd used wasn't anything like the one Dean had carried. The probability the cult had anything to do with Cain himself was non-existent.

It hadn't been until Sam had called a college professor whose specialty was folk stories that things started getting somewhere. There were a few tales and written accounts of oral stories that placed the legendary Cain as a sort of evil warlord. Cain, his mark, and the blade made of a jawbone.

Bingo.

That fit with that Dean had mentioned; there were several rare texts that were stored in the library on campus; the professor had invited Sam so come for a couple of days and research. He'd been in the middle of packing a few changes of clothes when he uncovered a letter that had been on his dresser for a little over a month now.

Stanford.

They couldn't reinstate his old scholarship, but if he came back for a year, and did as well as they expected he would, he would have the rest of his education covered by an endowment. Until then, he would have to take a loan out for that first year, but he understood. He'd left once; why would they trust he would stay this time?

The only problem was… Sam wasn't really sure if he wanted the life that going to Stanford would create. No brother sucked enough, but pretending the world was normal and safe? He might have been able to do it when he was younger. In his very early twenties, he'd been so carefree and easily influenced.

But now? Early thirties – a decade in which the most amazing things that came from the terrible supernatural forces in the world had forced him to grow up and acknowledge he wasn't really cut out for a normal life.

Plus, if he stayed in the dorms, he would be totally out of place. And an apartment would mean more student loans. Either way, if Dean ever decided to forgive Sam… Dean would never come anywhere near Sam if it looked like Sam had moved on.

That dream, once held so tightly, now seemed like too big a cost if it meant ruining the ever so distant chance Dean might reach out to him.

God, Sam had been such a spoiled brat. How had Dean stood him for so long? Because the man he was right now wasn't much of a man at all.

Sam picked up the thick packet and sighed. He walked to the door and dropped it in the trash on his way out without a backward glance.

Some things are just never meant to be.

**S-S-S-S-S**


End file.
